Flash Fire
By Dana Marton
A brand new, gripping novel of romantic suspense from
New York
Times and USA Today bestselling author Dana Marton.
When an American teenager disappears abroad, Clara Roberts, a
by-the-book investigator on a secret mission, joins forces with Light Walker,
an ex-SEAL turned lawless mercenary, to save her. The sparks they generate—and
the trouble they stir up—threaten to set the jungle ablaze. Nothing is what it
seems in this fast-paced romantic thriller. As attraction grows into love,
looming danger turns into all-out war, and the whole region explodes around
them. Clara and Walker must hold on to each other and race against time to
survive.
EXCERPT
…the front door banged open, and
she turned that way, still hoping for her travel guide, finding herself staring
at a mercenary who looked like he’d just stepped out of one of those
high-testosterone video games.
A machete strapped to his
back, a semiautomatic slung over his shoulder, and an army knife on his belt,
he walked into the cantina with a swagger that said he could beat any man in town,
and could take any woman to bed. If he wanted.
He was taller than the
locals, his hair a few shades lighter, a couple of days’ worth of bristle
covering the lower half of his face. He wore army boots, cargo pants, and a
black T-shirt that did nothing to conceal a distracting amount of muscle. White
flashed as he chomped on the cigar between his teeth, his eyes covered by
sunglasses.
Clara slid down in her chair
and inched farther into the shadows as she watched him. Okay, so Pedro wasn’t
alpha dog of the local pack. This guy
was most definitely the top predator in Furino. His body language seemed
completely relaxed, yet power emanated from his every pore.
All around, hands
surreptitiously migrated to the tops of the tables, as if making sure the
newcomer didn’t accidentally misinterpret any move as someone going for a
weapon.
The mercenary took the empty stool
at the far end of the bar. He didn’t ask for a drink. The bartender poured him
one anyway. He didn’t so much as cock an eyebrow at a woman. But Margarita went
to sit on his lap and rubbed against his well-built chest like a cat. She just
about purred.
The waitress’s lustrous
mahogany hair tumbled to her waist in waves, curling and swinging all over the
place. She looked wild and free. Clara touched a hand to the strict bun tucked
under her baseball hat.
The mercenary tossed back his
drink with one hand while putting the other one on Margarita’s bare knee,
running his palm up her thigh, under her short red skirt. He bent to her neck
and nibbled her. Or maybe whispered something into her ear, because Margarita
threw back her head and laughed.
One second Clara was glaring
at them with annoyed disapproval, and the next she suddenly felt her own skin
heat, as if the man was touching her, his callused palm running over her naked
skin. A long-neglected part of her body tingled, waving a flag, Hey, remember me?
At the bar, Margarita
flattened her palms against the muscles of the mercenary’s chest and caressed
them, moving lower and lower.
Clara blinked. What the hell
was wrong with them? Then she clenched her jaw. What the hell was wrong with her?
It had to be the heat. A
dozen fans whirled overhead, swirling the hot, humid air without providing much
relief.
The mercenary chatted on with
the bartender, as if being publicly fondled was par for the course for him,
certainly nothing to remove his sunglasses over.
Appalling. Both his behavior, and that Clara would feel hot and bothered from
simply watching the outrageous bastard.
Then he finally slid off his
glasses, and the next second his unerring gaze pinned Clara, and it was too
late to turn away or slide down in her chair, because he’d caught her watching
him.
He gave a knowing smirk as he
shooed the waitress off his lap and patted her curvy behind. He never looked at
the woman again as he sauntered toward Clara, over six feet of pure muscle and
laser-focused attention.
The scene should have been
the opening shot of an action movie—light glinting off hills of muscles,
determination in every masculine move, a cock-sure grin. Casting directors all
over Hollywood would have peed their pants at the sight of this guy.
He dropped into the chair
across from Clara, his muscled thighs spread. She clamped her own thighs
together. His white teeth flashed in the dim light of the cantina as he chomped
on his cigar and took stock of her.
“Are you lost, Cupcake?” His
I’m-a-bad-boy-and-you-know-it voice scraped along her nerve endings. He was
definitely American. East Coast, if she had to guess from his accent.
Her grandmother used to say
there were men the devil put on Earth to test good women. Clara was tempted to
ask the guy whether he’d just zip-lined in from hell.
“Go away,” she said instead.
His voice dipped. “How can I,
when your eyes begged me to come over?”
She rolled said eyes so hard,
she might have caused permanent damage.
One: she hadn’t begged in her
life.
Two: the only thing she
wanted was to hit him over the head with the bottle of tequila between them on
the table. She was trying to keep a low profile, and he was drawing every eye
to them.
He smiled around his cigar.
“What’s your name?”
DOD Investigator Clara Roberts,
she badly wanted to say to wipe the superior smirk off his face. “None of your
business.”
His eyes were a brilliant
multi-color green like the rain forest, alive and full of secrets. He let his
gaze travel over her chest from left to right, then from right to left with undisguised
disappointment.
He tsked. “No tits, no
manners.” He shook his head. “You should try to have at least one or the other.
A pair of great tits covers a multitude of sins.”
When his gaze reached hers
again, the very fires of hell glinting in his eyes, he said magnanimously,
“Don’t worry about it, Cupcake. You look like the brainy type. Believe it or
not, that appeals to some men. I think I read that somewhere.” He edged his
chair forward, until their knees touched under the table.
A tingle ran up her thighs at
the contact. She shifted her legs away from his. “Please leave.”
“I can’t. You need me.” He
flashed an infuriatingly cocky grin. “Walker.”
A who? Her mouth dropped
open. Light Walker? The hippie travel guide Walker? The one she’d been
picturing with long, thinning hair, wearing a tie-dye shirt?
How on earth did her father
even know a man like this? And why on earth would he send his daughter to him?
About the author
New York Times bestselling author
Dana Marton writes about smart, strong women and the alpha heroes they love,
especially when those heroes are cops and military men. Luckily, her secret
research source is always close by—her husband has served in the US Army, has
been an EMT, and a fireman, a hunter, a trapper, and a number of other things
he won’t admit to in public.
Dana’s small-town romantic suspense
series set in Broslin Creek is based on her real life home in Pennsylvania, and
has over one thousand positive reviews. Book one in the series, DEATHWATCH, is currently
free.
She also writes an international
romantic thriller series full of intrigue, danger and exotic locales, based on
the investigators of the Civilian Personnel Recovery Unit. FORCED DISAPPEARANCE
and FLASH FIRE are the first two books in this series.
Kirkus Reviews calls her writing
“compelling and honest.” RT Book Review Magazine said, “Marton knows what makes
a hero…her characters are sure to become reader favorites.” Her writing has
been acclaimed by critics, called, “gripping,” “intense and chilling,” “full of
action,” “a thrilling adventure,” and wholeheartedly recommended to readers.
Dana is the winner of the Daphne du Maurier Award of Excellence, the Readers’
Choice Award, and Best Intrigue, among other awards. Her book, TALL, DARK, AND
LETHAL was nominated for the prestigious Rita Award. DEATHSCAPE reached the #1
spot on Amazon’s Romantic Suspense Bestseller list.
Beyond being a bestselling author of
romantic suspense thrillers, Dana also writes a popular fantasy romance series,
Hardstorm Saga. Book 1, RELUCTANT CONCUBINE, spent 6 weeks at #1 on Amazon's
fantasy romance list.
When not writing, Dana loves to
browse antique shops and enjoys working in her flower garden, while fighting
her addictions to reading, garage sales, coffee and chocolate. If you know a
good twelve-step program to help her with any of that, she’d be interested in
hearing about it!
Keeping in touch with readers is
Dana’s favorite part of being an author. Please connect with her via her web
site (www.danamarton.com) or her Facebook page (www.facebook.com/danamarton).
Thank you so much for the feature!
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