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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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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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I'm serious. I can't believe I had these IG pictures just laying around . . .

Burn Card by Carina Alyce

Burn Card: A Steamy Married in Vegas Firefighter Romance (MetroGen After Hours #4)

Guard yourself against the sinful delights of Vegas or you'll wake up naked and married to your mysterious firefighter neighbor. . .

Teacher Caroline Peters has never fit in as one of the girls yet finds herself at a co-worker’s bachelorette party in Vegas. This girls gone wild weekend gets her up close and personal with her fire captain crush from back home.

Captain James Haskell has been burned by love, and he’d much rather focus on the firefighter convention than the temptations of Las Vegas. However, not even he is immune to the charms of the one woman he's hungered for from afar.

And that's before he wakes up naked with a ring on his finger . . .

WARNING: This over-the-top sexy Vegas romance requires a fan with reading. You should only buy if you wish Grey's Anatomy and Chicago Fire offered their characters a one-hour sex room as part of the deluxe wedding package to fulfill their every sexual fantasy.

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Note to self: Burned cookies and dead smoke detectors do not impress new firefighter neighbors.

Caroline was not having a good day.

For starters, Facebook decided to remember that she'd gotten engaged on this day. As a grown up, she'd removed every upload that included Bryan and returned his engagement ring after their break-up. Her failure to delete all posts encompassing their entire two-year relationship from her timeline was the miscalculation.

If that wasn't salt on the wound, the Sunday Plain Dealer had a nice spread about Bryan Papas's wedding and how the lovely bride was due in the next three months.

So Caroline could sit on her couch with a glass or four of terrible tasting red wine watching Under the Tuscan Sun, Sliding Doors, and Joe Tucker Must Die. Wearing her bathrobe was also acceptable, as was not shaving her legs.

Cosmo said so.

The HOA wanted to have a housewarming party for her new neighbor, Jamie, and she'd agree to participate with a cookie display. Judging by the amount of food and activity outside, the Welcome Wagon didn't need the eight-dozen fresh baked cookies from Caroline's oven.

That sounded dirtier than intended, but who cared?

She had a batch of Russian tea cakes in the oven, and then she could drop of her contribution—late.

Tough luck, Jamie. The cookies can wait.

Her Facebook timeline was awful. Statements like 'he's going to make me the happiest woman in the world!’ made her cringe.

And her hair? What had she been thinking when she'd bleached and dyed it blonde? The kids had been shocked this past school year when her hair was back to its normal black color.

At the time, making a few changes for Bryan's sake hadn't seemed bad. She slouched a little more, cooked more often, drank red wine—which she hated, and listened to his mother drone about duty to family and bloodlines. Her mother and father had sat through it, having what she imagined to be animated discussions afterward. They were practically happy when it got bumpy and Bryan decided she wasn't a 'good fit for his goals.'

Like she had anything to do with that.

Her wine glass was leaving a ring on the coffee table. She moved it by using the plaque with her bronze medal from six years ago as a coaster.

She was fifteen minutes into another round of Under the Tuscan Sun when her front door burst open. An African American man in firefighting gear, wielding a fire extinguisher, ran through her living room and yelled, "Evac now!"

He sprinted into her kitchen, its swinging door releasing a cloud of tea cake flavored smoke.

"Oh, blin. The cookies!" Caroline exclaimed and chased after him.

It was too late. He pushed the carefully arranged stack of cookies off its spot on her counter and was spraying the inside of her oven with powder from his fire extinguisher.

In retrospect, she might have been distracted and used wax paper instead of parchment paper, which explained why the paper was burning and the confections were black.

There was plenty of smoke, and he scanned the room for other sources of fire, she guessed. When he didn't find any, he shut the oven off and turned on the vent fan.

This gave her a better chance to look at him. He appeared a few years older than her, but she must not have been thinking clearly when he ran by. Either he wasn’t on duty, or the Cleveland FD had low safety standards. He wore jeans and sneakers underneath his red helmet and turnout jacket. His helmet read 'Captain' and the back of his turnouts said 'Haskell.'

With the smoke dissipating, the firefighter was rather displeased. He pointed to the ceiling. "Your smoke detector didn't go off."

Caroline surveyed the wreckage of her carefully constructed cookie display. "I took the batteries out."

He gave a long-suffering sigh, "Was it beeping?"

"Yes."

"Beeping means low batteries, not 'take them out and burn your kitchen down.' I have extra's in my truck," he said. "You do realize most fires start in the kitchen, right?"

"Thanks." She peered into the mess of her oven. "I hope Jamie next door likes his cookies well done. Smoky and black.”

He grimaced and used oven mitts to pull out what had been her latest culinary creation. “I promise you he does not. I have no desire to eat smoke at my own welcome barbecue.”

She clicked her teeth as she put two and two together. “I’m your neighbor, Caroline.”

“So I gathered.” He opened her side door and tossed the tea cakes and cookie sheet onto the patio.

“Hey!”

“Trust me, you don’t want that in your house. There’s nothing damaged yet, though you’ll need to clean your oven. Let it cool off, and then vacuum it out.”

She critically examined her oven. The extinguisher hadn’t used water but some kind of powder. “How did you know about the oven?”

“Your kitchen faces mine, and our houses have identical layouts. I assumed I could handle a little cooking fire without calling my team.” He unhooked his helmet. “Didn’t I tell you to evacuate?”

Caroline realized she was dumbly standing in her bare feet and a white tank top. This man was authority, action, and not impressed. “I… umm…”

“When a firefighter tells you to evacuate, obey. Do you hear me?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Okay.” She didn’t want to face him. Instead, she grabbed the closest plate and got on her hands and knees to collect the cookies.

“What are you doing?” Jamie’s voice was even more gruff.

“There are cookies everywhere. I have to clean up. And get ready to meet my new neighbor.”

“I am your new neighbor. We met.”

“I’m going to pretend we didn’t meet like this.” Caroline corralled the cookies into a plate. “I should throw these out. Five second rule has passed.”

“There is no such thing as the five second rule. Give me the cookies, and I’ll feed them to my firefighters.”

“No! They fell on the floor.”

“If you knew anything about firefighters, we don’t care. A cookie is a cookie. On the floor, on the table. Hell, we’ll even eat them out of the trash can.”

She stood up. “No, these things have to be done correctly. You don’t give someone second-hand cookies. No one wants a cookie that’s not perfect.”

“They’re my cookies anyway.” He tried to take the plate of cookies away from her.

“No!” She pulled the cookies back, and the plate went flying. Also in retrospect, she should have used a paper plate instead. The plate and cookies hit the floor in a splatter of shattered glass and crumbs.

Bare feet were bad.

“Oww,” she cried as a few shards hit her legs.

Jamie rolled his eyes and hefted her over his shoulder. “Come on!”

“What are you doing?” This was humiliating. Her head flopped forward over his back, and she didn’t want to think about whether she was straining his shoulder.

He dumped her on the couch. “You sit.”

She sniffled and reached for her awful glass of wine from her impromptu coaster. The movie had advanced to another scene of Diane Lane buying her villa. The pain in her foot indicated she’d been hit by a few pieces, and she was bleeding. The pain in her heart reminded her that she was weak and wimpy.

Her father wanted her to be a warrior. Bryan had wanted her to be a woman. She had failed at both.

“Are you okay?” Jamie reappeared with rubbing alcohol and a washcloth.

“I’m fine.” Again, those stupid tears.

He began to clean the cuts on her leg, and she wondered how he’d found the supplies—and then remembered their houses were the same. “You seem fine,” he snarked.

She pushed a hand against his chest. “I’m not my best, and I had four glasses of wine. If I want to be a sad failure, I can. There, stupid new neighbor.”

“Not your best?” He took her wine away, set it on her medal plaque, and pushed her back to the couch. Then he pressed the alcohol to the cut on her foot, and she involuntarily kicked at him. Jamie dodged with practiced ease and went back to cleaning. This time, he was breathing harder, and she swore he was staring up at her eyes.

“Not my best,” she repeated. “I got dumped by my fiancé because I’m not perfect and never will be. Love isn’t enough, and time doesn’t heal—”

“Stop talking,” he growled suddenly and dropped her foot. For a few seconds, he seemed friendly, and now he was downright pissed. “You’ll be fine. Wear shoes when you clean up your kitchen and vacuum the oven like I told you.”

That was a slap in the face, but no less than she deserved. To him, she was that weepy drunk girl she’d been warned about by Cosmo.

His parting shot didn’t help, “The batteries'll be in your mailbox. If you come to the welcome party, please wear clothes and don’t set anything on fire.”

Feeling contrary, she opted to drink vodka in her kitchen in her bathrobe while she cleaned, skipping the party completely and swearing off men forever.





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Burn Card: A Steamy Married in Vegas Firefighter Romance

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Unchecked by Carina Alyce

Unchecked: A Steamy Love Triangle Medical Romance (MetroGen Kiss and Tell #1)

Hello, my name is Stella, and I am addicted to terrible romantic decisions.
In fact, don't come closer. I might be contagious.

Dr. Stella Magi has never been one for half measures. Despite drinking her way through residency, she's sober now and a successful surgeon. Still, she has cravings for that high, and MetroGen is full of eligible bachelors who can meet her needs.

Juggling three guys is harder than she thought, and she's gonna have to narrow it down soon. Should she pick Marcus Doyle, the playboy of the ER, Alex Casserty, the sensitive and cerebral neurosurgeon, or Joel Glazier, her super macho friend with benefits?

Or she could just choose herself – right before all hell breaks lose.

WARNING - this book ends on a stunning cliffhanger and violates every romance rule you know. If this isn't not for you, keep scrolling. However, everyone else, I promise red-hot M/F sex as Dr. Stella tries out every flavor in the sexy doctor ice cream store.

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A brain tumor isn’t the only reason people make horrible decisions. If anyone knew that, it would be Dr. Stella Magi.

Every morning, she looked in the mirror and said to herself, “Today is going to be a great day. No day but today. One day at a time. No moment but this one.”

Yeah, that was like four different affirmations at the same time. A solid combo of positive thinking, a dash of Rent, and several shots of Alcoholics Anonymous.

And today, she would need every bit of help.

Stella fluffed her dark brown hair in the mirror and put the final touches on her makeup. Her picture was going to be taken a million times, so she needed to look even better than her usual slightly messy surgeon self.

At least her hair was glorious. She couldn’t get rid of the puffiness under her cheeks and chin, but it didn’t make her any less of a dentist/ENT surgeon/all around kick-ass staying sober lady doctor.

Her cell phone sitting on the sink’s counter rang. There was only one person she expected to call.

“You aren’t chickening out, are you?” her next-door neighbor and second cousin by marriage, Dr. Elizabeth Kandal, asked.

“Me, chicken out? I don’t chicken out. I’m gonna haul my slutty self down the stairs and give them enough to talk about.” Stella wouldn’t hide anything. Hiding didn’t help; it only made things worse.

She would know. She’d completed a six-year combined MD-DDS program and a seven-year ENT residency while being a full-blown alcoholic. It took a fresh start at MetroGen Hospital and finding a circle of solid friends to keep her on the sober side.

Saying ‘straight and narrow’ would have been an exaggeration.

“This is going to be epic. Memorable. Everyone you know is coming, and I think they’re taking bets,” Eliza said sardonically. “Do you think gossip mixes best with champagne, Bloody Marys, or Moscato?”

“Spike the mystery punch with Everclear. Steal the Jungle Juice recipe from Throckies’ Halloween party,” Stella suggested the almost industrial grade barely legal alcohol. Never do anything in half measures.

“Will we have any gentleman callers?” Eliza asked carefully, trying to gauge Stella’s mood.

“Nope, not a one. Should keep the bet spread even,” Stella said, cutting to the chase. No reason not to take a scalpel to the problem.

She had perfect hands and great instincts in the OR. How could she have miscalculated so badly?

“Remember, you are the guest of honor, so don’t be late. Don’t show up hungover or shit-faced drunk either.”

“You’re very funny. See you soon.” Stella hung up the phone. She picked up her hair pick and re-brushed her locks for the third time.

There was no reason for her to bother. Whatever she did, it looked the same. With her precision skills, as far as Stella was concerned, there was no such thing as a bad hair day. If she used the right amount of focus, she could overcome anything.

Except alcoholism and terrible decision making.

Fortunately, den mother Eliza Kandal, her sister Kayla Varma, and their friend Angela Perkins had stood behind Stella as she took a hammer to everything around her. Elizabeth had a tendency to take in strays that accumulated at MetroGen hospital, whether it be wayward cousins by marriage, half-sisters, or random cardiologists-in-training. She was eternally trying to fix things, especially after her husband Scott had died.

Still, she was hard pressed to fix things for Stella.

Sometimes breaking things is in one’s nature.

Stella carefully spread a layer of eye shadow and used her perfectly steady hands to apply mascara. She hadn’t gone too loud, but no amount of makeup could cover the puffy face.

Things would be different soon enough.

If she had to do it all again, she’d probably do it exactly the same way.

Stella adjusted her dress and checked herself in the mirror one more time. Yep, still 40-weeks pregnant, and it was time for her baby shower.





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Unchecked: A Steamy Love Triangle Medical Romance

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Tempted by Carina Alyce

Read for FREE - Tempted: A Steamy Friends to Lovers Firefighter Romance (MetroGen Forbidden Love Duets #1)

The one who got away will be in his arms before the night is over.

Firefighter Fabian Santos would usually be annoyed he's stuck in the ER getting examined, but he has a chance to flirt with his big 'what-if' - ER clerk Cassie Odon. He's not going to waste another minute, and he jumps on the opportunity to make his move. One naughty kiss later and she’s making him an offer he can’t refuse.

Provided he ever makes it to their date. . .

Warning: This steamy romance ends with in a HEA after solid three years and forty-eight hours of UST of these long-time friends finally getting what they need. It's perfect for readers who want a hot firefighter loving his curvy girl.

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“You are a professional,” Cassie reminded herself, wheeling her computer through the MetroGen ER. The wee morning hours of Thursday night shifts in the minor care pod were supposed to be slow.

The bars didn’t have extended hours. No major concerts. The light drizzle should have kept people in on a late July night.

Unless it was a full moon.

In which case—definitely the best time to google hangnails, calluses, splinters, and toothaches.

Lest anyone think she was joking, the minor care census included a hangnail, a cut lip, and a stubbed toe.

For the two ladies waiting for urine pregnancy tests, Cassie totally recommended the one-dollar pregnancy tests at Dollar Tree. Skip the three-hundred-dollar ER co-pay. It would take Cassie far longer to process their insurance in her job as the ER clerk than wait for the store to reopen in five hours.

The triage nurse at the front door was having a ball because her triage reasons became more outlandish as the night wore on.

Seriously, why were Fabio and Glen sharing a room? And what did ‘get checked out’ mean? They couldn’t be too sick if they were in the minor care pod and not one of the two standard care pods. At nineteen and twenty-eight years old, they shouldn’t have been taking a ton of meds.

Group STD testing, perhaps?

No, the triage nurse’d have written ‘personal concern w/testing’ on that.

Object in the butt? While everyone said ‘they fell on it,’ it usually appeared as ‘OITB.’

Sex accident? Ideally, they weren’t drunk. Drunk guys, gay, straight, or in between, were obnoxious when she had to file their insurance.

It made her long for the trauma pod. There, she worked with the charge nurse, fielding phone calls, test results, locating consults, specialists, and directing human traffic. Her main company here was an attending, a PA, and two custodians cleaning the floor for the fifth time after another visit from the Vomit Comet of Minor Care.

She opened the door to Room 78 and understood triage’s note.

There sat two shirtless firefighters ‘getting checked out.’ Even better, she recognized one of them, who had been similarly naked during their last conversation.

Firefighter Fabian Santos . . .





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Tempted: A Steamy Friends to Lovers Firefighter Romance

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Tempted by Carina Alyce

Read for FREE - Tempted: A Steamy Friends to Lovers Firefighter Romance (MetroGen Forbidden Love Duets #1)

The one who got away will be in his arms before the night is over.

Firefighter Fabian Santos would usually be annoyed he's stuck in the ER getting examined, but he has a chance to flirt with his big 'what-if' - ER clerk Cassie Odon. He's not going to waste another minute, and he jumps on the opportunity to make his move. One naughty kiss later and she’s making him an offer he can’t refuse.

Provided he ever makes it to their date. . .

Warning: This steamy romance ends with in a HEA after solid three years and forty-eight hours of UST of these long-time friends finally getting what they need. It's perfect for readers who want a hot firefighter loving his curvy girl.

*****Start the steamy series for FREE!*****















*****Check out the whole series!*****












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




“You are a professional,” Cassie reminded herself, wheeling her computer through the MetroGen ER. The wee morning hours of Thursday night shifts in the minor care pod were supposed to be slow.

The bars didn’t have extended hours. No major concerts. The light drizzle should have kept people in on a late July night.

Unless it was a full moon.

In which case—definitely the best time to google hangnails, calluses, splinters, and toothaches.

Lest anyone think she was joking, the minor care census included a hangnail, a cut lip, and a stubbed toe.

For the two ladies waiting for urine pregnancy tests, Cassie totally recommended the one-dollar pregnancy tests at Dollar Tree. Skip the three-hundred-dollar ER co-pay. It would take Cassie far longer to process their insurance in her job as the ER clerk than wait for the store to reopen in five hours.

The triage nurse at the front door was having a ball because her triage reasons became more outlandish as the night wore on.

Seriously, why were Fabio and Glen sharing a room? And what did ‘get checked out’ mean? They couldn’t be too sick if they were in the minor care pod and not one of the two standard care pods. At nineteen and twenty-eight years old, they shouldn’t have been taking a ton of meds.

Group STD testing, perhaps?

No, the triage nurse’d have written ‘personal concern w/testing’ on that.

Object in the butt? While everyone said ‘they fell on it,’ it usually appeared as ‘OITB.’

Sex accident? Ideally, they weren’t drunk. Drunk guys, gay, straight, or in between, were obnoxious when she had to file their insurance.

It made her long for the trauma pod. There, she worked with the charge nurse, fielding phone calls, test results, locating consults, specialists, and directing human traffic. Her main company here was an attending, a PA, and two custodians cleaning the floor for the fifth time after another visit from the Vomit Comet of Minor Care.

She opened the door to Room 78 and understood triage’s note.

There sat two shirtless firefighters ‘getting checked out.’ Even better, she recognized one of them, who had been similarly naked during their last conversation.

Firefighter Fabian Santos . . .





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Tempted: A Steamy Friends to Lovers Firefighter Romance

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Wildcat by Carina Alyce

Wildcat: A Steamy Opposites Attract Sports Protector Romance (MetroGen After Hours #2)

She's not looking for Mr. Forever - just Mr. Right Now. It all changes when she takes her city's star football player home, and he WANTS more. So much more . . .

Leslie McClunis didn't give up ballet for firefighting to be told she'd get ahead if she acted more 'feminine.' As far as she's concerned, she's allowed to cuss like a guy and kick her one-night stands to the curb in the morning like a guy.

Trevor Hampton is not used to being shown the door as football's biggest, baddest defensive end. Not a fan of losing, he wants Leslie for more than a night. Nothing will stop him from capturing his very own firefighting wildcat.

Not even someone stealing his football team. . .

WARNING: This steamy romance is burning hot and loosely based on the 1995 football season. You should only read if you wish Grey's Anatomy and Chicago Fire had a ton more naughty scenes starring ripped football players.

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Leslie kept her voice low, “Why are you here?”

“To show my appreciation for our local firefighters,” her one-night stand said.

“Bull. How did you find me?” While his bedroom skills were exemplary, the definition of a one-night stand was that they went away after and were never seen or heard from again.

“Phone book sitting next to your mail,” Trevor told her.

“You can’t be here.”

“Why not? It’s a public building. City taxes paid for it, and I’m a taxpayer.”

“My pickups don’t follow me to work,” Leslie hissed.

“Oh, so you do this often?” Trevor asked with an edge.

“That’s no business of yours,” she retorted.

“If we’re discussing one-night stand edict, most women would at least offer me coffee.”

“It’s the guy who offers the coffee, not the other way around. Who’s giving you your advice? Dr. Ruth?” Leslie took a calming breath. He needed to go away before her team realized she’d slept with their favorite football player. “Why are you here?”

“I'm making sure we were cool.”

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Leslie started laying out napkins on the table.

“You tell me. We used protection every time, and we were sober.” He handed her a McRib.

She opened it and stuffed it in her mouth, eating as rapidly as possible. “Yes, we’re cool. Can you leave my firehouse?” she said with her mouth full and grabbed another one. She inhaled that one too. Hopefully, her lack of basic manners would convince him she was a dead end.

He watched her eat with a small amount of wonder in his expression. “I’ll leave on one condition. I want another date.”

“You want another date? Another roll in the hay?” Leslie was dumbfounded. No man in their right mind would have wanted to see her again when she was giving her best terrible disinterested jerk impression. “Did you get hit too many times in the head or something?”

“No, I want a date with you. Take you out to dinner.” Trevor rolled up her two discarded wrappers.

“You brought dinner. This counts,” Leslie said. This was not happening. She glanced at the clock. Any minute, her crew would come up the stairs. He needed to leave now.

“This doesn’t count; I want you and me alone for dinner. Do you wear dresses?”

“Yes, I wear dresses, but not here.”

“Then I’ll wear a tie, you’ll wear a dress, and we’ll go eat somewhere.”

“Can’t I just have sex with you again?” Leslie suggested instead. The sex had been very, very good, and it was usually a great bargaining chip.

“I refuse to put out. I want dinner.” He handed her another McRib, not deterred in the slightest.

“How about dinner and sex?” Leslie tried to offer.

He sighed. “If you force me into it. Most people would be excited if I asked them out.”

“I’m not most people, so ask one of them out,” Leslie retorted. Her temper was about to get the best of her, again.

“Are you being difficult on purpose?”

“No. You showed up to my place of work and are badgering me for a date. Shouldn’t I be pissed?”

He struck back, “You ditched me without a name or a phone number. Shouldn’t I be pissed?”

Leslie set her jaw. “Don’t you get I don’t have time for this? I’m working my ass off to get accepted, and I don’t need my one-and-done’s following me like a stray cat.”

He paused and then surprised her by replying, “You’re right. I don’t know how hard you had to work to be a firefighter. It had to be a lot, and I didn’t mean to make things harder for you.”

“Exactly. There’s only two women in the entire department, and they don’t need any excuses to get rid of me.”

“Agree to the date, and I’ll go away.”

“Why date me? I’m being a total asshole to you on purpose.”

In response, he picked her up and set her on the table. Before she could protest, he kissed her, mouth full of McRib and all. Her body very much wanted what he was offering, Her lips opened up, letting his tongue sweep in. His enormous arms enfolded her, pressing her against him.

Yep, her body definitely was willing to spend another night with him. Or have sex with him right here on the table.

Stupid body.

Trevor drew back and licked some of the McRib’s special barbecue sauce off the corner of her mouth. “Because of how that feels. And because you aren’t asking me for anything.”

She bit her lip for a second. He had the advantage here. She needed him to leave, and she wanted to get him naked again. This was a time where a temporary compromise would be worthwhile. “Fine. One date.”

“And could you wait until after the one date to find my replacement?”

“Or?” she said in her iciest tone.

“Or I’ll get dinner, and you’ll get no dessert,” he warned her.

“Fine. I work 24-hours on and 48-off. We can figure it out later. If you say a word in front of my firehouse, it’s off. The firehouse comes first. You don’t even come a close second or third.”

“I won’t come first. You will,” he promised . . .

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Wildcat: A Steamy Opposites Attract Sports Protector Romance

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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. . .



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High Risk

Family medicine clinic started at 0830 every morning, and the three medical students decided that having a morning coffee together was a good idea.

Nora had been quite busy last night. “I printed out three Up-To-Date articles about supraventricular arrhythmias in pregnancy. Here are articles on different safe medications and limitations of AV node inhibitors in WPW.”

She stacked piles of paperwork into Michael’s arms as they made their way to the front of the coffee cart line. There were a few doctors in scrubs ahead of them.

“That is a lot of research on a patient that isn’t even ours anymore.” Michael glanced down at the pile and miscalculated the movement of the line. Two female physicians turned around with their coffee, and Michael collided with one of them.

The doctor bounced off him, spilling coffee everywhere. He saw he had narrowly missed his pulmonary attending, Dr. Varma, but had knocked down her companion.

“I am so sorry, ma’am,” Michael apologized for the deluge of coffee and medical articles all over the fallen doctor.

Then he looked down at his victim.

Not possible.

Angela.

In green scrubs and a long white coat.

She stared at him. He stared at her, unable to comprehend the words emblazoned on her stained white coat. ‘Dr. Angela Perkins, Interventional Cardiology.’

That was not a kindergarten teacher. That was a highly trained medical professional.

Neither of them moved, stunned into frozen silence. Nora took action. “We’re sorry, Doctor. Old man Harper here. Raj, napkins.” He scrambled to follow her order.

“I’m fine,” Dr. Angela Perkins sounded dazed. Michael tried to give her a hand up, and she recoiled with the same disdain one would give a tarantula.

“I’m sorry,” Michael mumbled, unsure of what to do or say upon discovering the identity of his recent date.

“Angela, are you okay?” Dr. Varma asked Dr. Perkins.

“I’m fine.” Dr. Perkins stood up and read his badge in an unfamiliar tone. “Thank you, Medical-Student Harper, for your offer of assistance. Mistakes happen.” She blanked her shock from her features and addressed the rest of his team, taking their proffered napkins. “Thank you, Patel and Borenstein.”

“At least let us buy you new coffee,” Raj offered quickly.

“It was quite the jolt as it was. I’ll go get new scrubs. I’m post-call so I’ll be off tonight.” Dr. Perkins looked anywhere but at Michael.

“We’re outpatient family med. We don’t get off until six or seven,” Michael answered. That was obviously a message for him.

“She wasn’t talking to you,” Nora said. “We’re sorry, ma’am. We’ll get out of your way and very sorry about your clothes.” She signaled Raj who grabbed the papers off the floor and helped propel Michael down the hallway.

Michael had no choice but to go.



Angela somehow made her excuses to Kayla and escaped to cardiology clinic. She wanted to believe she was having a post-call sleep deprivation related hallucination.

Or a concussion. Or an aneurysm. Or a dissociative fugue.

Otherwise, she would have to accept that her noncommittal accountant date was wandering the hospital dressed as a medical student.
Michael had to be a common name.

She staggered back to her desk in a daze. She flung open the bottom drawer and frantically searched for that pile of papers relating to the medical students that she had so thoughtlessly buried. Flipping through the pictures, she didn’t see him. His face was nowhere to be found.

She must have hallucinated him post call.
Then she went by last name. Michael Harper.

Oh no.

His picture had been way overexposed and practically invisible. Only the barest shape of his face remained, practically featureless, but he had been there all along.

As had she.

Angela buried her face in her hands. What the hell was she going to do?

She was totally screwed. By the simple act of dating a medical student, even unknowingly, she could have torpedoed her career. The cardiology department treated her badly as it was.

There was no mutually assured destruction in this; she would be the one who paid the most. She had made herself indispensable to the ER, Pulmonary, and the ICU. She logged in more hours and did more procedures than Pegg, but it wouldn’t matter. MetroGen had no qualms about expelling her from the program while giving Michael, at best, a slap on the wrist.
There was only one thing to do. She and Michael had to agree to erase this from existence.

Otherwise she could lose everything—her fellowship, her future.

Like it or not, she did have to see him one more time. She had to make sure they were both on the same page on this.

Clasping her hands under her chin, she took a calming breath. She’d been so busy trying to prove to herself that she was the opposite of the girl whose fiancé dropped her over medicine, she’d never considered Michael was anything but a cute guy with whom to pass some sexy time. That seemed quite the oversimplification if he had left some type of job to become a medical student this late in life. There had to be some internal drive pushing him along.

Hopefully, it would be enough to convince him to bury their dates in the past.

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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Wildcat: A Strong Woman Firefighter Romance comes out today. So you'll love this secret chapter

Dodging reporters, Cleveland defensive end Trevor Hampton got to one of the phones in the locker room. He called her house first.

Her answering machine picked up on the fourth ring, and he hung up. It was late enough that she should have been home.

He dialed a different number.

“Hello, Firehouse 15,” her voice answered on the second ring.

“Hey, Leslie. It’s Trevor. Why are you at work?”

“I’m at work because I’m a firefighter, and firehouses are open twenty-four seven.”

“I thought you were twenty-four hours on and forty-eight hours off. Shouldn’t you work tomorrow?”

“No. My shift got split. This is actually your fault.”

“How is it my fault?” Trevor asked.

“Because you turned my entire firehouse into Browns fanatics. A guy on C shift swapped most of his shift today for mine tomorrow so he could watch the game. It’s after midnight, and he’ll be taking over.”

“You watched the game?”

“No, I didn’t watch the game. I never watch the game. They put me on desk during the game so they can watch the game.” She was testy at midnight.

“So you didn’t see the game?” he confirmed.

“No. Did you lose?”

“No, we won. It’s preseason, and we kicked the asses of the Chicago Bears.”

“Are you having an emergency which requires the services of Firehouse 15? I’m at work.” Her tone was all business.

“I’m’ at work too. I’m calling you from the locker room. I want our date, and now I know you’re free tonight.”

“You won a football game, and you want a date after midnight?”

“What I really want is to take you back to your apartment and relive Friday night.”

“I’m down for that,” she offered too swiftly.

“Nope. I’m a principled guy, and I need food. I want you in that dress. We’re going to a steakhouse. You eat steak?” He could eat a nice, rare, red steak. Then he could eat out his redhead.

“You watched me eat a McRib. It could have been steak or pork or rat. One problem: it’s late. Everything is closed.”

“Not to me. We have a club for this. Private rooms. I’ll pick you up, take you there with the dress on, take you to your place, and then take the dress off.”

“Can’t we do that and skip dinner?”

“Not a chance. I like to win, but I need to play the game first.”

There was a noise on her end. “Hey, Jim. Good game, right?” More noises. “Yes, I’m heading straight home right now.”

She hung up her phone, and Trevor jumped in the shower, skipping all interviews today. He had a date.

If you love alpha males with soft sides who meet their matches in strong women, then Wildcat: A Strong Woman Firefighter Romance is perfect for you!