Some fires are set...others are felt
Firestorm
by Dana Wayne
Genre: Contemporary Small Town Romance
The greatest danger may lie in the firestorm burning
between them
Jenna McCray dedicated her life and trust fund to helping others succeed
through her charitable foundation, Pathways Mission. After a self-imposed
hiatus, her first venture back into the dating pool is an unmitigated disaster
witnessed by many, including hunky Fire Marshall Thomas Donovan.
Donovan had a profound mistrust of the upper crust—until Jenna McCray. One
photo in the paper. That’s all it took. Regal. Composed. A killer smile. She
looked straight into the camera…and into him--and he hadn’t even met her yet.
When he finally did, the effect was seismic. Prim, proper, and utterly
magnetic. Something primal flared to life inside him, and he was powerless
against it. Calling her “The Ice Queen” didn’t help. Mocking was easier than
admitting she'd gotten under his skin long before they even spoke.
When a fire ravages her business on the same night someone vandalizes her home,
he wonders if the incidents are connected and searches for answers.
But someone wants to keep their secret buried.
As danger escalates, so does the blistering chemistry between Jenna and
Donovan, and he vows to protect her at all costs—even if it means risking
everything.
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Jenna
shrieked and jumped up, toppling her chair and stumbling into someone behind
her, who then collided with a waiter carrying a water pitcher, sending all
three to the floor in a shower of ice-cold water.
She
landed partially on top of the man, his arms around her waist as he bore the
brunt of the fall. Another scream lodged in her throat when she saw it resting
on her thigh.
Suddenly,
his hand moved, and the spider vanished.
“You’re
okay,” murmured a husky voice against her ear. “It’s gone. You’re okay.”
Laughter
filtered through a fog of humiliation. She’d freaked out—in a public place and
lay on the floor atop a total stranger while Oscar did nothing but watch, a
self-satisfied smirk on his face.
“Something
wrong, Jenna?” he crooned.
“I
t-t-told you I h-hate spiders.” Her body trembled, and she couldn’t control the
quiver in her voice.
The
man’s arms tightened slightly.
“Did
you?” cooed Oscar. “I must have forgotten.”
***
Donovan
couldn’t believe his eyes when he first saw Jenna McCray in person tonight. All
prim and proper, like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, and his crazy heart
raced like a runaway train.
She’d
dominated his thoughts from the moment he saw her picture in the paper two
weeks ago. Hell, he’d even cut the damn thing out and kept it in his desk. How
pathetic was that?
Everything
from her regal posture to how she sipped the wine screamed money and class.
Coffee-colored hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape, and pearl studs in her
ears emphasized the delicate bone structure of her face and the fullness of
ruby-colored lips. The basic black dress and single strand of pearls would look
simple on most women. On her, it was elegant.
When
their gazes locked briefly, the jolt of desire was so potent it shocked him.
The
returning look of interest stole his breath.
Every
unexplained feeling he’d endured the last two weeks hit like a tidal wave. It
took massive effort to walk calmly to his table.
Oscar's
joining her was an unpleasant shock. The man was dirty as mud. Why on earth
would a woman like her associate with him?
Thoughts
in turmoil, he decided to skip dinner and leave—until all hell broke loose.
He’d
never met anyone with arachnophobia, but judging by her reaction to a fake
spider, she suffered an extreme case. As snickers from the other patrons
registered, his protective instincts surged.
A
shudder rolled through her body, and she sucked in a jerky breath, mumbling
something he didn’t catch.
“It’s
gone,” he whispered. “You’re okay.”
She
made a move to stand, and he maneuvered to assist, one hand remaining on her
arm for stability.
“I’m
so sorry,” she muttered, avoiding eye contact and swiping at the water on her
dress. “I’ll pay to have your clothes cleaned.”
Face
flaming, she watched the waiter clean up the mess. “Oh, Alfred,” she asked. “Are
you all right?”
“I’m
fine, Miss McCray.” He nodded toward Oscar’s retreating figure. “And he’s to
blame—not you.”
Donovan
lightly squeezed her arm. “Ma’am? Are you okay?”
She
managed a shaky “I’m fine,” then swallowed. “Th-thank you. For helping me.”
Donovan clenched his teeth as his fantasy
dreams went up in smoke. She couldn’t even look him in the eye when she mumbled
insincere words of gratitude.
“Anytime.”
At
his terse response, dark, earnest eyes, filled with confusion and something he
couldn’t readily identify, whipped to his. Desire coursed through him, heady as
strong whiskey, leaving him off-balance.
She
frowned and retrieved a wallet from the bag on the table, pulled out a card and
some bills, then passed the money to Alfred. “If this isn’t sufficient for my
wine and the pitcher, please let me know.”
He
hesitated, then took the money. “It’s fine, Miss McCray.”
A
harried woman appeared from Donovan’s left. The manager—they’d met on a
previous visit, but he couldn’t recall her name.
“Oh
my God, Jenna. Are you all right?”
“I’m
fine, Katie. Embarrassed but unhurt.” She nodded toward Donovan. “This
gentleman broke my fall.” She nibbled her lower lip as though unsure of what to
do next. Inhaling, she passed him the card. “Thank you, Mr…”
“Donovan.”
“Mr.
Donovan. Please—”
“No
mister. Just Donovan.”
Lips
slightly parted, she hesitated. “Oh. Okay. Donovan. Please send me a bill for
the dry cleaning.”
“That’s
not necessary.”
“Yes.
It is.”
Cheeks
the brightest red he’d ever seen, her earnest expression softened.
“Please.”
That
one word curbed his resentment. He took the card, ignoring the tingle as their
fingers brushed.
“Donovan,”
said Katie. “Thank you for helping my friend.”
“No
problem, ma’am.”
“And
dinner’s on me tonight.”
“Actually,
I was just leaving.”
She
looked around. “Was something wrong with your table?”
He
shook his head. “Unexpected change in plans. I was on my way out when—this
happened.”
“Then
please accept a raincheck for next time.”
He
nodded, knowing he would never accept the offer, no matter how kindly extended.
Katie
rubbed Jenna’s shoulder. “Guess kicking him to the curb in a public place
wasn’t such a good idea after all, huh?”
Donovan
barely covered his surprise. So that’s what happened—good for her.
Jenna’s
gaze skipped from him to Katie. “No. It wasn’t.”
“I’ve
never seen you react that way before.”
She glanced
at Donovan. “I—it just surprised me. That’s all.”
He
immediately recognized the lie. She wasn’t surprised. She was terrified.
“I
told him they bothered me.”
And
that’s the understatement of the century.
“And you’d already told him to back off,”
added Katie, “so the creep had a Plan B to get even. I’m just happy you weren’t
hurt.”
This
time, when she looked at Donavan, her gaze held, and the intensity floored him.
A dark chocolate brown enhanced by a golden ring around the edges, they
glistened in the restaurant’s ambient lighting.
Or
was it unshed tears?
Texas Winds
by Dana Wayne
Genre: Contemporary Small-Town Romance
Two hearts shattered by betrayal. Once chance to trust
again.
Jake Holloway discovered his wife’s infidelity as she lay in
a coma, carrying a child that may not be his.
Four years later, his heart remains closed to all emotion. Lexie Morgan’s dream
of happily-ever-after ended the day she stood alone at the altar. The need to
put distance between her and the pain places her in the path of feral hogs and
Jake Holloway’s life. Neither is prepared for the intense attraction.
When Lexie meets his four-year-old daughter, Katie, the timid child with
downcast eyes steals her heart.
Forced to rely on Jake’s assistance, it’s impossible to ignore the escalating
pull.
But the past never dies, and resurrected hurts threaten their fragile bond.
Will the ever-changing Texas winds hold them together or reduce their love to
dust?
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Ankle and hip
throbbed in unison, and a growing headache added to the misery mix.
She took a breath
and looked around. The front bumper dug into the far side of the muddy
embankment, and the blown-out tire rested in muck halfway up the rim. Dingy
water in the ditch swirled around her feet and leached up her mud-coated pant
legs. Her disgusted gaze took in the filthy jeans and soaked and blood-coated
tee shirt. “Crap,” she muttered. “Brand new shoes.” She swiped a hand across
her cheek, leaving a streak of bloody mud in its wake. “Great way to start my
first vacation in years.”
She adjusted her
grip on the door and blew wet hair away from her mouth. “Alrighty then.”
Muttering under her breath, she reached past the dog and plucked the half-full
Swear Jar from the floorboard. An irritated swipe at the wet hair
clinging to her cheek left more muddy streaks behind. “Time for the big guns.”
She placed the jug on the seat near Biscuit and pulled two soggy one-dollar
bills and three quarters from her pocket. She took a breath and ceremoniously
dropped the quarters through a slot cut into the lid, mumbling after each one.
“Damn. Damn. Dammit.” She took a deep breath and crammed the wet bills through
the hole. “And son-of-a-bitch.”
“Don’t reckon
that’s gonna help much.”
An f-bomb exploded
before she could stop it.
***
Startled by the
man’s deep voice, Lexie swore and spun around, tossing the jar over her
shoulder as intense pain shot up her leg.
Off-balance, she grabbed the door to keep from falling on her rear as
the jug landed with a mushy thump at the stranger’s feet.
The brim of a dark
Stetson cast his face in shadow, but there was no disguising his frame. Tall,
at least six-two or three, shoulders a mile wide, with long, muscular legs
encased in worn jeans. Muddy work boots covered his feet, and well-used leather
gloves stuck out of his front pocket. Rain dripping from the brim of his hat
left wet trails on his pale blue chambray shirt, and the rolled-up sleeves
revealed tanned, muscular forearms.
He hesitated, then
picked up the jar, one corner of his mouth curling up as he read the
inscription. “I’m guessing that last word is expensive,” he said as he passed
her the container before stepping back.
His husky,
just-woke-up voice raced through her like fine wine, leaving her momentarily
speechless. “It is,” she snapped and took the jug. “Five bucks.” She glanced past him and noted a
grime-coated, black Ford F250 crew cab parked behind him on the shoulder of the
road. Holy crap. I never heard a thing. She eyed her bag, mentally
calculating how long it would take to reach the pistol inside if needed. “You
shouldn’t sneak up on people. I have a gun. And I know how to use it.”
He made no effort
to approach, just stood there, hands on his hips. “Are you hurt?”
She gripped the
door tighter when her throbbing ankle threatened to fold again. “No. I’m good.”
“You have blood on
your face. And mud.”
His intense gaze
traveled up and down her body, causing an involuntary shiver.
“Were you ejected?”
“No. I slipped when
I got out.”
He tipped his head
toward the back seat. “What about the dog?”
She glanced at
Biscuit, who showed no concern over the stranger’s sudden appearance, and noted
a little blood on the side of his mouth. How did she miss that before?
“Biscuit!” Dismissing the man, she leaned against the car and ran her hands
over the dog again, checking more thoroughly for anything broken. “I’m so
sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”
The dog stoically
endured her frantic exam with only a slight whimper when she touched his front
paw before moving to his mouth. “Come on, baby, open up.” She slowly pried his
jaw open and saw blood on his tongue.
“Looks like he bit
it. Probably on impact.”
It took tremendous
effort not to react to the unexpected voice behind her left shoulder. “Yeah.
Probably. I’ll have him checked out when I get to town.”
He looked at the
luggage piled in the back of the SUV. “Where you headed?”
She glanced up and
discovered walnut-colored eyes watching Biscuit, his square jaw visibly tense.
His face was rugged and somber, bronzed by wind and sun and covered with dark
stubble. No laugh lines around full lips, and unspoken pain was alive in dark,
fathomless eyes. In a heartbeat, his expression changed, switching to
closed-off and distant as he took two steps back, hands stuffed in his front
pockets.
Multi-awarding winning author Dana Wayne is a
sixth-generation Texan and still resides in the Piney Woods. She routinely
speaks at book clubs, writers’ groups and other organizations and is a frequent
guest on numerous writing blogs. A die-hard romantic, her stories are filled
with strong women, second chances, and happily ever after.
“I’m all about the romance, so my tales are heartwarming,
have a splash of suspense and humor. While they are a little steamy, I believe
romance is more about emotion than sex, and the journey is more important than
the destination.
“I retired in late 2013 and published my first book in 2016.
I was over the moon when it was awarded first place in a contest through the
Texas Association of Authors, and I never looked back. My books have been
nominated for and/or received various awards and numerous five-star reviews. To
have my work validated in such a manner is very gratifying and humbling.”
Affiliations include Texas Association of Authors, Writers
League of Texas, East Texas Writers Guild, Northeast Texas Writers
Organization, and East Texas Writers Association.
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