In just four more days, ZERO TO SIXTY will release! It's the third in the Body Shop Bad Boys series but can easily be read by itself. A hint of Sam's romance was revealed at the end of A SURE THING. Take a peek.
Sam wandered in the rain, concerned about yet another damn dog. He’d found Macho easily enough last week. If that do-gooder Donnigan hadn’t picked him up, Sam would have. Typical McCauley. Donnigan, McCauley, Sam lumped them all together. It was as if Del had infected his team by agreeing to marry Mike, because now, everywhere he turned, Sam found himself bumping into a McCauley brother, uncle, or cousin.Gave him hives being around so much family unity.The wind blew more rain into his face. Another Sunday night spent roaming this damn stretch of Queen Anne looking for a scared puppy.He idly wondered if Lancelot had fixed things with his chick. Poor bastard had seemed like a lost cause. But whatever. Sam had better things to do than worry about some jackass Marine.“Hey, Scruffy. Hey, boy.” He tried to keep his voice down, because he wasn’t supposed to be hanging around the back lots of these particular offices. The cops had already questioned him once for being at the scene of a recent break-in.Prison—not jail—where guys did hard time.He squelched those memories in a hurry and continued to call out for the dog. The animal foster home he’d been helping belonged to a cranky-ass old woman named Willie. A few of her friends had mentioned a stray puppy looking in need of care that they called Scruffy. Sam had already circled the park and the nearby neighborhood. He didn’t want the poor thing being dumped at the animal shelter.He knew all about being a stray, needing a good home.After a glance around, and spotting no cops, he crossed the tiny lot and slipped past the back gate. The light he could see shining through the window of the office gave him pause, and he decided to hang back in the shadowed courtyard, where he’d seen Macho last week. At least Macho had found a home. But this poor guy out in the freezing rain wouldn’t last too long by himself.“Scruffy,” he tried again in a low whisper and glanced down at the bushes, wondering if the dog was hiding back there.“Oh my God. You’re back.” The soft, feminine scold startled him. He hadn’t seen the woman exit the building.If she found Sam, he’d be in some serious trouble. Considering he looked like a thug, was too big to escape notice, and too mean, wet, and cold to give a shit about sounding nice, he figured his best course of action would be to keep quiet and hope the chick would go back in.Then he heard it. A small, trembling yip.“Oh, sweetie. I’d take care of you if you’d stop running away. Now shush. You’re not supposed to be here.” She stepped into the light, and Sam stopped breathing.Then she took that small, wet bundle in her arms and snuck him back inside.Sam continued to stare at the back of the building, his mind not working right. Because that woman… Talk about a lucky dog tonight. Scruffy had been tucked against a generous rack that gave Sam all kinds of ideas.The wind blew and knocked over a flower pot that shattered on the ground. The door opened again.“Who’s there?” she called out.He swore under his breath. Opening the door when any psycho could be out stalking was stupid. If he’d been inclined, he could have had her shoved up against a wall in seconds, dangling by her neck, before she could even think of screaming for help.“I’m calling the police,” she warned and slammed the door.He ducked away, halfway to his car before he realized he couldn’t just leave the dog in her care. A woman with those looks, foolish enough to put herself in danger like that, had no regard for safety. Scruffy needed a real protector. Someone like Sam, not some defenseless blond with the sense of a gnat.He’d come back tomorrow and set her straight. That would be after a long night convincing himself not to gape like a jackass when he saw her again. Her looks shouldn’t matter. She was an idiot for opening that door. How the hell could she protect Scruffy when she couldn’t protect herself?
It wasn’t his job to police the damn city. Just the small, defenseless animals needing his help.
And there was nothing small about that blond. Nothing defenseless about that rockin’ body either.
Nope. Not his problem.Or so he kept telling himself.
About the Author: Caffeine addict, boy referee, and romance aficionado, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Marie Harte has over 100 books published with more constantly on the way. She’s a confessed bibliophile and devotee of action movies. Whether hiking in Central Oregon, biking around town, or hanging at the local tea shop, she’s constantly plotting to give everyone a happily ever after. Visit http://marieharte.com and fall in love.