I was trained to be a hunter. Growing up in the nation’s most infamous, violent cult, my job was simple. Track. Kill. Survive.
And that’s what I did… until our leader threatened to kill his own daughter.
Refusing to watch another senseless murder, I did what I was trained to do. I took his life, claimed his land, and set every member free, including her. I only had one goal left. Find the sister I was told was dead.
But being a hunter in the woods is a far cry from tracking a woman in Miami Beach.
I didn’t find my sister.
I found someone else.
She stepped back and turned to leave.
Suddenly, I was starved for human interaction. Not just any interaction, but female interaction. Two years was probably too long to go without speaking unless absolutely necessary, but it hadn’t felt lonely, not until this unexpected female smiled at me. “What is your name?”
Denim shorts hugging her womanly curves, showing off tanned legs, she paused and looked over her shoulder. Her brown hair cascaded down her back, the soft waves reaching almost to her waist. “Are you hitting on me?”
I frowned. “Hitting on you?”
“Right, okay, um, sorry.” Her cheeks flushed beautifully. “Of course you weren’t. You’re….” Her hand fluttered in the air gracefully as her gaze dropped to my chest. She gave a small, shy laugh and met my eyes again. “I’m just going to stop talking now. Have a good day.”
“I would never hit you.” The thought was abhorrent.
She stopped. “No, I meant….” Her head cocked to the side, and she looked at me curiously. “Never mind. Are you from around here?”
“Yes.” The compound was close enough.
She kept looking at me, but not in the usual way females on the compound looked at me. Almost six and half feet, blond hair, blue eyes, I knew I was attractive to the opposite sex, but this woman was not looking at me like she merely wanted my seed.
Mesmerized by her, I gave her a name I had never said out loud. “I am Callan.” The six letters strung together on a birth certificate I had never seen sounded as foreign as my voice.
Wide and pure, her smile came naturally and without motive. “I’m Emily. Nice to meet you, Callan.”
I had never met a female outside the compound gates. “You are beautiful.” And she was. Like the saplings in spring, she was new and fresh and full of promise.
Heat instantly colored her cheeks, and she looked away.
I frowned. “Did I say something wrong?”
Suddenly, I was starved for human interaction. Not just any interaction, but female interaction. Two years was probably too long to go without speaking unless absolutely necessary, but it hadn’t felt lonely, not until this unexpected female smiled at me. “What is your name?”
Denim shorts hugging her womanly curves, showing off tanned legs, she paused and looked over her shoulder. Her brown hair cascaded down her back, the soft waves reaching almost to her waist. “Are you hitting on me?”
I frowned. “Hitting on you?”
“Right, okay, um, sorry.” Her cheeks flushed beautifully. “Of course you weren’t. You’re….” Her hand fluttered in the air gracefully as her gaze dropped to my chest. She gave a small, shy laugh and met my eyes again. “I’m just going to stop talking now. Have a good day.”
“I would never hit you.” The thought was abhorrent.
She stopped. “No, I meant….” Her head cocked to the side, and she looked at me curiously. “Never mind. Are you from around here?”
“Yes.” The compound was close enough.
She kept looking at me, but not in the usual way females on the compound looked at me. Almost six and half feet, blond hair, blue eyes, I knew I was attractive to the opposite sex, but this woman was not looking at me like she merely wanted my seed.
Mesmerized by her, I gave her a name I had never said out loud. “I am Callan.” The six letters strung together on a birth certificate I had never seen sounded as foreign as my voice.
Wide and pure, her smile came naturally and without motive. “I’m Emily. Nice to meet you, Callan.”
I had never met a female outside the compound gates. “You are beautiful.” And she was. Like the saplings in spring, she was new and fresh and full of promise.
Heat instantly colored her cheeks, and she looked away.
I frowned. “Did I say something wrong?”
Sybil now resides in Southern Florida and while she doesn’t get to read as much as she likes, she still buries her toes in the sand. If she isn’t writing or fighting to contain the banana plantation in her backyard, you can find her spending time with her handsomely tattooed husband, her brilliantly practical son and a mischievous miniature boxer…
But Seriously?
Here are ten things you probably really want to know about Sybil.
She grew up a faculty brat. She can swear like a sailor. She loves men in uniform. She hates being told what to do. She can do your taxes (but don’t ask). The Bird Market in Hong Kong freaks her out. Her favorite word is desperate…or dirty, or both—she can’t decide. She has a thing for muscle cars. But never reply on her for driving directions, ever. And she has a new book boyfriend every week—don’t tell her husband.
To find out more about Sybil Bartel, be sure to follow her on Twitter (she loves to hear about your favorite book boyfriend!), visit her website, like her on Facebook or join her Facebook group Book Boyfriend Heroes for exclusive excerpts and giveaways.
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Love the cover. Thanks for the giveaway.
ReplyDeleteSounds wonderful.
ReplyDeleteLooks awesome! I can't wait to read it.
ReplyDeleteSexy cover for sure! Thanks for hosting.
ReplyDeleteLooks very interesting.
ReplyDelete