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Broken, by Megan Hart

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This month my name is Mary.

My name is different every month—Brandy, Honey, Amy…sometimes Joe doesn't even bother to ask—but he never fails to arouse me with his body, his mouth, his touch, no matter what I'm called or where he picks me up. The sex is always amazing, always leaves me itching for more in those long weeks until I see him again.

My real name is Sadie, and once a month over lunch Joe tells me about his latest conquest. But what Joe doesn't know is that in my mind, I'm the star of every X-rated one-night stand he has revealed to me, or that I'm practically obsessed with our imaginary sex life. I know it's wrong. I know my husband wouldn't understand. But I can't stop. Not yet.

• Sales Rank: #742588 in Books
• Brand: Hart, Megan
• Published on: 2012-09-04
• Released on: 2012-09-04
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 8.25" h x 1.01" w x 5.38" l, .61 pounds
• Binding: Paperback
• 384 pages

About the Author

Megan Hart is the award-winning and multi-published author of more than thirty novels, novellas and short stories. Her work has been published in almost every genre, including contemporary women’s fiction, historical romance, romantic suspense and erotica. Megan lives in the deep, dark woods of Pennsylvania with her husband and children, and is currently working on her next novel for MIRA Books. You can contact Megan through her website at www.MeganHart.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.


January

This month my name is Mary and, apparently, I'm as contrary as the nursery rhyme. First I said I wanted to fuck, but now I'm refusing to come out of the bathroom. What I don't know is that Joe doesn't like cock teases, nor does he suffer wasting time. He's already done the wooing, bought the drinks, made the compliments. If I don't put out in the next five minutes, he'll put his coat on and go.

I don't know this because I only met him three hours ago in a bar downtown. His name seemed as if it were a cosmic joke, but out of all the men I met tonight, Joe's the only one who bothered trying to have a conversation with me. That's why I picked him. That, and the fact that's he's hot and well-dressed, with a charming quirk of a smile that tries to look sincere but mostly doesn't.

"Mary, Mary quite contrary. How does your garden grow?"

His voice presses against me through the bathroom door. I've heard that rhyme a thousand times. Been called Proud Mary. Bloody Mary. Mary Poppins. My parents gave me the name thinking it had no diminutive, but people will always find a way to tease, if they want.

The doorknob is cool under my fingers and turns easily. I open the door to show Joe I'm ready for him. That the wait was worth it. I've stripped down to a set of lacy white panties and a matching bra, and I fight to keep from crossing my arms to shield myself from his scrutiny.

His eyes widen a bit. His tongue snakes out to slide along a mouth I haven't even kissed yet. I want to kiss it. He looks as if he'll taste good.

"Damn." The word's a compliment, not a curse, and I manage a slightly more confident smile.

I turn, slowly, so he can see me from all sides. When I come around again to face him, Joe reaches for my hand and tugs me one step, two, until, like magnets, our bodies attach to one another.

He's unbuttoned his shirt and the hair on his chest scratches my soft flesh. I shiver. My nipples peak against the lace and heat coils in my belly. Joe's fingers splay on my hips. I'm all of a sudden too shy to look into his eyes.

He pulls me to the bed—the nice, big king-size he requested from the clerk at the front desk with that same quirky smile that first attracted me. "I'm a bad boy," that smile says. "But I'm so good you won't care." It had worked on me and the clerk, too, who'd taken the extra time to find us a room with a bed big enough for an orgy.

There's no orgy, though, just me and Joe and the sound of the heating unit blowing the curtains. The hot air coming out of it smells stale, but what did I expect? Frankincense and myrrh?

"C'mon." Joe's getting impatient, tugging me onto the bed.

He kisses me, finally, my throat and the curves of my breasts. A shoulder. I arch a little under the feeling of his mouth on my skin, and though my lips part, he doesn't kiss them.

His hands smooth up my sides and over my belly. When one goes between my legs, I'm startled. He doesn't notice, or maybe he doesn't care. He strokes me a few times and I melt into his experienced touch like sugar in a hot pan, all crumbling, scattered grains melting and smoothing into one liquid ooze.

This is all happening faster than I'd imagined it would, but I can't seem to find the words to tell him to slow down. His fingers find the small, lace-covered bump at the front of my panties and begin a pattern of slow circles. I decide fast isn't such a bad thing.

"You like that?"

I nod. He smiles and reaches to flick open the front clasp of my bra. My breasts surge out and I moan in the back of my throat. I want his mouth on me, his tongue swiping across my tight pink nipples. I want him to suck on them, one and then the other, while his hand moves between my legs. I'm already wet from his caress. I can feel it when I shift.

He pauses to shrug out of his shirt and I admire his chest. He has a body clothes are made to hang on, but naked, his shoulders are broader than they seemed before, his belly flat and tight with muscles but not rippled with them. His arms look strong, the cords in his forearms standing out as he tugs his belt buckle, unbuttons and unzips his pants. The hair on his chest, arms and belly is a little darker than that on his head, where his hair is the color of a lion's mane. I wonder if he colors himself blond or if all men's bodies show such disparity.

He pushes his trousers over his thighs and takes off his boxer briefs. I can't look. I turn my head away, my breath lodging in my throat and my heart beating pitter-pat under my left breast. The bed dips as he kneels beside me. His hand returns to its shelter between my thighs and strokes me again. I lift my hips, an uncertain cry leaking from my unkissed lips.

"Take these off," he whispers, giving me no time to comply before he hooks his fingers into the strings at the side and pulls them off himself.

I'm bared to him. My carefully waxed and trimmed bush of candy floss pubic hair. The hard button of my clitoris. My tender flesh, soft with arousal, wet from his touch.

He parts my thighs, spreading me, and I moan. Joe seems to like this, because his breathing gets heavier, faster, the way mine is. He runs an inquisitive finger along my folds and then up to my clit again and, oh, the sensation is indescribable. He rolls my own moisture over the tight bump and my hips jerk.

I feel an unaccustomed weight in my pussy, an emptiness, an ache. More heat blooms in my belly and breasts, that secret cavern between my legs. He rubs my clit and liquid trickles down the curve of my ass, tickling.

He takes one of my nipples in his mouth and it feels so good I whimper. I put a hand to the back of his head, feeling his soft blond locks on the backs of my fingers. He suckles, and my fingers tighten. He mutters something but doesn't stop sucking my nipple or rubbing my clit, and my breath comes faster and faster until I'm light-headed.

I've been with boys before. Making out. Petting. I've given furtive hand-jobs in the back seat of a car, stroking and jerking and wondering what all the fuss is about. I've been with boys before, but not yet a man, someone who doesn't plead or fumble. Joe doesn't even ask, he just does. There's something so perfect about that, just what I was looking for, and I have no more time to be shy.

Not even when his mouth slides down my body and centers between my legs. I go stiff at once in my surprise, but my small protest becomes a moan when Joe's tongue flicks along my clitoris.

Oh, holy mother of God,.

I've imagined this, using my hands or the pulsing jet of a hand-held shower to make myself come. Nothing has prepared me for the reality. His tongue is soft and warm, gentler than his fingers. It's like water against me, softly lapping like waves against the shore. I arch into the sensation. He licks me. I shudder. He licks me again, and I'm helpless to do anything but spread my legs for him and give him my body.

Tension coils in my belly, and my nipples have grown as hard and tight as pebbles. Tiny moans leak from my throat. Joe pauses to blow against me, his hot breath making me writhe.

I've never had an orgasm with another person. I'm not sure I can. I've been close a couple times and it always slipped away from me at the last minute.

He stops again, and I'm sure I'm going to lose it. My thighs vibrate. The muscles in my belly tense and release. It will take only the barest pressure to make me go over, just the right touch, but he's not giving it to me.

He's doing something I can't see. Something crumples. The bed moves as he shifts. His body covers me, chest hairs tantalizing my nipples wet from his saliva. His thighs and belly press against mine.

I have time to think of one more name I've been called, one that is appropriate but nevertheless tiresome, before Joe grunts and moves.

"Holy hell!" he cries, astonished when I shriek. "You're a virgin?"

I'm embarrassed by the entirely involuntary scream, and I stutter, "Y-yes."

"Well…shit."

He's not climbing off me, though I wouldn't blame him if he did. The pain has faded, replaced by a sensation of fullness, of being stretched. It's not unpleasant. It's not exactly comparable to the stories of bliss my girlfriends have been telling, but it's not as awful as the tales the nuns told of unbearable agony, either. I've always wondered how a nun would know.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I hoped you wouldn't notice."

A smile tilts one corner of his mouth as he pushes up on his hands to look into my face. "The scream gave it away."

"I was surprised."

Something tender creeps into his eyes and he leans in to kiss my cheek. "You should've told me. I'd have been gentler."

Now comes the truth of why I'm here. "I really just wanted to get it over with." He looks perplexed. "Why?"

"I'm twenty-three. It's time. All my friends have done it. I'm tired of being a virgin. I just wanted to…do it."

He's still inside of me and it doesn't hurt, but I'm becoming uncomfortable. This isn't going the way I'd planned. None of it has except for the part where I find a guy in a bar to take me someplace and get him to divest me of my maidenhood.

He gives a gentle, exploratory thrust. I tense, waiting for pain that doesn't come. Joe bends to trace the curve of my ear with his tongue.

"You shouldn't have to just get it over with," he whispers, voice deep. "Not the first time."

He slides a hand under my hair, which has spread out on the pillow. He kisses my earlobe, then my neck. His teeth press into the sensitive skin of my shoulder.

He pushes inside me and slides out, inch by inch. He does it again. The next time he moves inside me, I gasp and curve to meet him.

He smiles. "Good?"

It is good, but he doesn't seem to care when I don't say so. He moves a little faster and pushes himself back up on his hands. The tendons in his arms stand out. I can look down between us, to the point where our bodies have joined. His dark curls tangle with my lighter hair. He pulls out and I see the base of his erection, the ring of latex sheathing him, glistening. He pushes in and I watch, fascinated, as he disappears inside my body.

Sex isn't like I'd imagined, but I can't say whether it's better or worse. It brings a flush of red out on my chest, and it must spread to my throat because I feel the same heat there. I watch him move in and out of me, and I think, connected. We are connected.

His face has gone solemn in concentration, eyes squinting, mouth creased. Sweat forms along his hairline. I smell him, a crisp bite of soap mixed with something musky and rich, like earth turned over in the garden after a heavy rain. Something like blood. I think it's lust. I slide my hands up along his chest, feeling his muscles bunch and move, touching the twin tight nipples so different than mine. I pinch one, experimentally, and he groans, so I do it again.

His thrusts are a little less smooth and a tremor runs through his body. He stops and looks down at me. I look back.

Without a word, he rolls us both until I end up on top, legs straddling his waist. I've put a hand on his chest for balance, and his fingers grip my hips. He shifts us both with practiced ease, and a moment later I gasp aloud as this new position allows him to sink deeper inside me.

"Lean forward and put your hands on my shoulders."

I do what he says. When he begins to move again, I'm glad I did. Oh, shit, this is good. Oh, fuck. He fills me all the way, in and out. My clit bumps his stomach with every thrust, and the weight, the heat, the ache is back, though the emptiness has been replaced by the delicious fullness of him stretching me.

He slides a hand between us, his thumb cocked to press against me, and this extra pressure sends exquisite bolts of pleasure shooting through me like lightning.

"Come on," he whispers. "I want you to come."

This time, I really think I might.

He fucks me faster. Every thrust rocks my clit against his thumb. I'm being stroked inside and out. My thighs shake. My breath comes in hitches and gasps. I'm burning and frozen at the same time.

He grunts and thrusts harder. Our bodies smack together, my ass against his thighs, belly to belly. My fingers have dug into his shoulders, the palms of my hands pressed hard to his collarbone. The pulse in his neck beats fast and hard.

I can't stop myself from crying out. It feels too good. I no longer feel my arms, legs, back. I've become coiled in tension, everything growing tighter, like a key winding a spring, and I know it won't be long before it happens, before I spring free.

But not yet. Right now he pushes me to sit up straight. My breasts bounce as his thrusts lift me up and down. There's no more push-push pressure on my clit, but he replaces it with direct stimulation with his finger, which circles in time to his thrusts. This is even better, almost unbearably better, so good I don't think I can stand it, so good it almost hurts.

I cry out, "Joe! Oh, God, Joe!" And understand now that the dialogue in romance novels isn't so unrealistic, after all. I want to shout out more, words of love and gratitude. It would be easy enough to fall in love right now, with pleasure coursing through my veins headier than any wine has ever made me. I shout his name again, then I stop trying to speak and end up making sounds.

My clit is wet from my juices and his finger slips and slides against me. He's thrusting, I'm rocking, we're jerking and pumping but somehow managing to keep the pace together.

I'm not quite sure how, but I feel him getting thicker inside me. He closes his eyes, his brow furrows in concentration, and I wish he'd open them to look at me when I come. I want that sense of connection again, but he doesn't give it to me. I have to be satisfied with looking down between us, to the place his body joins with mine.

Electric sparks tingle in my thighs and down to my curling toes. I quiver. My center burns with spreading outward warmth while the pleasure goes up, up, up, and I'm stretched thin with it. So thin, until at last, I break.

Most helpful customer reviews

127 of 134 people found the following review helpful.
Megan Hart's Best Book Yet
By Lauren Dane
All the usual disclaimers apply - I know Megan, she's my friend and we've given each other nicknames and all that stuff. Still, she's not ensorcelled me so I'm incapable of an actual honest opinion on her book although dude, if she had that power it would be so cool, I'd totally make her use it on my behalf. Anyway, I digress...

Broken is a lot of things. It's one of those books that stays with you a really long time after you finish because there are a lot of layers to it. In my opinion, it's the best thing Megan has written and she's a darned good writer so that should say something. Each time Sadie sits next to Joe and we hear a tale of his latest conquest, we're really drawing down another layer of Sadie.

Whatever Broken is about, I can tell you what it's not about - Broken is not about infidelity. I want to make that clear up front. Sadie loves Adam, her husband. But Adam has withdrawn himself emotionally after an accident has left him a quadroplegic. She's lost him in many ways even though he's there physically. Her entire being centers around his care and schedule - it isn't that she hates him or wishes he didn't exist, it isn't that she wants to sleep with Joe behind Adam's back. Her life has made her into a mechanism - she takes care of everyone else and she doesn't get much emotional feedback because her husband has lost himself and she's helpless to help him regain what he's lost. So for that one brief time every month, she's unfettered from all that responsibility and context and she gets to be a woman.

She wants to be held and listened to and those brief times once a month as she sits and listens to Joe tell his stories, she can transport herself elsewhere in her head.

Sadie's loneliness is sharp and painful at times. Her loss throbbed in my gut as I read. Her connection to Joe, his attraction to her, her committment to Adam and her embracing her life no matter what it has become creates a book that sent me reeling over and over.

Broken is not an easy book. It's not lighthearted and romantic. It's an unflinching look into someone's inner life. I cried when I read Broken. It made me furious. It made me laugh and grumble. It drove me to email Megan a few times and give her what for.

Broken is evocative and deep and disturbing and yet, it's uplifting too. Because Sadie can be any of us, you know? And she survives and rises and finds her way in a world that could easily drive her to give up for let go of the things that anchor her - to her life, to her husband, to everything she finds important. She's not a saint, she doesn't take care of Adam because she loves the hairshirt, she takes care of him because he's her husband and she loves him and it's the right thing to do and she believes that. That makes Sadie a character that rises above so many other characters in books. She's flawed, yes, but she's *real*

Broken is erotic, yes. The sex is integral to the story as a vehicle for Sadie's mental escape and also as a glimpse into Joe. The story is in first person but I really felt I knew Joe and his insecurities as he told his stories. In them he's not a sex god, his vision of himself is interesting and pretty unflinching. The moments between Sadie and Adam are heartwrenchingly beautiful and skillfully done and the connection between Joe and Sadie is powerful as well.

I've gone back and forth writing this, it's hard to distill what Broken is because I think everyone will read Sadie with their own filters. And because Broken is a complex book. It's not easy. But it's worth it. Broken is, without question, an amazing book and I truly hope it gets the attention it deserves. Technically, it's mindblowing. As an author, when I read it, I was floored by the skill Megan used as a writer. The story is marvelous but she tells it perfectly.

58 of 62 people found the following review helpful.
Deeply moving and sensitive erotic tale
By Tracy Vest
Sadie's a therapist whose beloved husband Adam was paralyzed four years ago in a skiing accident. She's catered to him out of love and loyalty, but longs to have someone hold her and touch her. Adam has withdrawn from life and as she holds on by a thread, she fears her loyalty is being put to the test when she looks forward to her once-a-month visits with Joe Wilder. At their lunchtime meetings, Joe shares his sexcapades with Sadie, in great detail, with Sadie imagining herself as a participant. She doesn't mean to be disloyal to Adam, she just needs a release and time to herself. The erotic passages are very detailed and each encounter provides further insight to Joe's character. Sadie teeters on that thin cusp between her love for her husband and her need to escape her obligations. A secondary plot includes Elle Kavanaugh, from Hart's previous novel "Dirty"; she's a patient of Sadie's and is about to embark on a new odyssey in her life.

I feared that this book was about infidelity and that I would be upset like I was after reading Lolly Winston's "Happiness Sold Separately." I couldn't have been more wrong; rather than infidelity, it's a portrayal of a women's quest for a sense of her own self-identity after suffering a huge blow that alters the future she and Adam carefully mapped out. I laughed; I cried; I absolutely loved this book. Megan Hart writes so eloquently and draws the reader in that they feel like they know these characters. Her portrayal of quadriplegic Adam, warts and all was incredible and sensitive. Megan is definitely the queen of "eroplotica" - erotic novels with actual storylines. I look forward to each novel she writes.

49 of 54 people found the following review helpful.
A lot of erotic sex, but no romance. It's thoughtful and painful about loving a quadriplegic husband. It's depressing.
By Jane
STORY BRIEF:
Sadie is a psychologist. Adam was a brilliant poet and taught at a university. They were wonderfully in love and married. Then Adam was in a skiing accident that made him a quadriplegic. Although they have hired help, Sadie's life revolves around caring for Adam. She must wake every two hours at night to tend to him. She's lost any desire to have children since she's overwhelmed with caring for Adam. She puts on false cheerfulness in his presence. She loves him, but she also resents him. Adam loves Sadie and also hates her. I think the hate is because she gives up her own desires to take care of Adam, causing him to feel guilt. The marriage is "broken."

For two years, Sadie has been meeting Joe for lunch on the first Friday of every month. Joe tells her about a recent sexual encounter, always with a different woman. He tells these stories in first person from the female's point of view, with explicit detail. Somehow this helps Sadie.

REVIEWER'S OPINION:
This was sad. I was depressed through most of the story. I hurt for the way Adam and Sadie hurt. Their marriage was no longer precious. They were missing things in life. They were unhappy and miserable, yet they still loved each other. Joe was a mystery. I had too many unanswered questions about him. I wish the author had explained what his problems were and how he felt about Sadie. Even after finishing the book, I had this uncomfortable void concerning Joe. I needed to know more about him, his history, and his feelings. I was also frustrated with unanswered questions about Adam, especially with something that happened in November.

I bought this book thinking it was a romance novel. It is labeled an erotic novel and written by a romance author. I read romance novels to feel good. This book did not make me feel good. See Spoiler below. If I had known what it was, I would not have bought it. It is women's fiction about a woman having relationships with two men. It's mostly about Sadie's thoughts and emotions, not the men's. I wanted to know more about the men's thoughts, feelings, motivations and actions. But that was missing. Throwing in erotic sex added more confusion to the genre question. The sex scenes were pretty good if you're ok with passionless hookups, but they're set within a sad story which is an uncomfortable pairing for me.

For someone wanting to experience life with a quadriplegic - this book is touching, moving, thoughtful, and painful.

CAUTION SPOILER:
Relationship development is a major component for romance novels. There was none of that, either with Adam or Joe. We watch two broken or lacking relationships which eventually end. The epilogue is about hopefulness - the start of something new - but we don't get to experience or feel it. Therefore, I'm not calling this a romance novel. I see it as women's fiction with a lot of erotic sex scenes.

DATA:
Story length: 370 pages. Swearing language: strong, including religious swear words. Sexual language: strong/erotic. Number of sex scenes: 15. Approximate number of sex scene pages: 90. Setting: current day Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Copyright: 2007. Genre: women's fiction with erotic sex, quadriplegic fiction.

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• Sales Rank: #401376 in Books
• Brand: Mira
• Published on: 2004-07-01
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 6.62" h x 1.01" w x 4.21" l, .40 pounds
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 378 pages

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From Publishers Weekly
The fourth novel in the Maggie O'Dell series (A Perfect Evil; Split Second; Soul Catcher) features a serial killer with a taste for grisly butchery. At the outset of a long overdue vacation, FBI special agent O'Dell agrees to investigate a simple missing person case for her good friend, psychologist Gwen Patterson. Coincidentally, in the quiet Connecticut small town where Gwen's patient was last seen, a barrel containing a dead body is discovered in an abandoned rock quarry. Maggie offers her services to the local sheriff because she needs to rule out the possibility that the victim is Gwen's patient. Professor Adam Bonzado, a forensic anthropologist and friend of the sheriff, is already at work; a dozen or more 55-gallon barrels have surfaced. As they're pried open, releasing the telltale nauseating stench, an odd assortment of cannibalized victims come to light, including a female breast cancer survivor-her breast implants cut out and removed-and an embalmed corpse, brain missing. Chapters narrated from the point of view of Gwen's missing patient (she's alive but in dire straits) and the paranoid killer alternate with accounts of the tedious work of the coroner and the anthropologist. As Maggie processes the information they provide, she also ministers to elderly but endearing Luc Racine, who lives near the quarry. His Jack Russell terrier keeps bringing him human bones, but since Luc is fighting Alzheimer's he may or may not be a viable witness. Kava's plotting is capable, but there's only a hint of romance and little humor to provide relief from the lashings of gore.
Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information, Inc.

Review
"Maggie is gutsy and appealing as an FBI agent facing constant danger." -- Library Journal

About the Author
ALEX KAVA s two stand-alone novels and seven novels featuring FBI profiler Maggie O Dell have been published in more than twenty countries, appearing on the bestseller lists in Britain, Australia, Poland, Germany, and Italy. She is a member of Mystery Writers of America and International Thriller Writers. Alex divides her time between Omaha, Nebraska, and Pensacola, Florida.

Most helpful customer reviews

18 of 20 people found the following review helpful.
SHE'S DONE IT AGAIN, PURE BRILLIANCE !!
By A Customer
I was lucky enough to recieve a review copy of Ms Kava's newest book and after the initail reaction - dumb founded shock not to mention the complete and utter disbelief - to the no NICK MORRELLI aspect I must say I was impressed. Ms Kava out did herself with her first two - Perfect Evil and Split Second - however I found her third - Soul Catcher rather lacking.
She definatley makes a come back with this newest Maggie O'Dell novel - At the Stroke of Madness. This novel has everything, murder, mystery and great ensemble of characters. It brings into play Maggie's half brother which she has never met and it also explores and develops the relationship between Tully and Gwen - Personally i havn't yet made up my mind whether i like that particular story line and in true Alex Kava fashion when dealing with relationships, everything is left open to follow up in the next book and the reader left hanging.
The book takes us through many twists and drops little hints before the killer is finally revealed and in this novel it is not so obvious - thank god.
I personally find that Ms. Kava writes a good strong solid female lead in Maggie O'Dell that we do not see in many books and in usually Maggie O'Dell style she does end up getting herself in a fair amount of trouble and unfortunatley this is becoming a standard event in every book, just once it would be great for her to catch a killer without almost dying it gives her an air incompetence when she really isn't
However I did thoroughly enjoy this book and would recommend it even if you did get a little turned off by Soul Catcher, I promise it is worth your money.
AND PLEASE AS A SIDE NOTE IN CASE YOUR BROWSING MS. KAVA PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE CAN WE HAVE MORE NICK MORRELLI IN THE NEXT BOOK

6 of 6 people found the following review helpful.
I'd give it ten stars, if I could. The best Kava book yet!
By A Customer
I have read all of Alex Kava's books and have thoroughly enjoyed watching this wonderful storyteller grow with each novel. The writing in this newest one is excellent, and I love the characters. Luc is my favorite. Kava's sure touch and sensitivity enabled her to portray this Alzheimer's patient in a non-sentimental, realistic way that truly moved me. And, of course, the tale she spins is exactly what thriller fans are looking for. I had to smile at one of the journal reviews above that mentioned the lack of romance and humor, as if this were a failing in a thriller novel. Actually, it's the mark of the best -- a story that maintains the mood and excitement throughout without unnecessary digressions into the crutches of romance and/or humor. There is a bit of romance in this book, but it feeds the character development of both Tully and Gwen (both are recurring characters in Kava's books) and it is handled very well. Something else I appreciated was Kava's sense of place (I could easily imagine the Connecticut countryside where her story takes place, and the cozy little bookstore that appears in the narrative). Ms. Kava, please write faster and put out more than one book a year!

5 of 5 people found the following review helpful.
Good summer read.
By E. Bukowsky
"At the Stroke of Madness," by Alex Kava, breaks no new ground. Maggie O'Dell is a recently divorced FBI profiler about to go on a much-needed vacation, when she gets a phone call from her friend, Gwen Patterson. Gwen, a psychologist, would like Maggie to look into the possible disappearance of a patient.

When Maggie agrees to help, she finds herself embroiled in a very ugly case. It turns out that there is an extremely sick man on the loose in the quiet town of Wallingford, Connecticut. This individual has been killing people for a most unusual reason. Will Maggie catch the killer before he strikes again?

If all this sounds routine, it is, but Kava's nicely depicted characters place this book a notch above the ordinary. There is Luc Racine, a retired postal worker who may have seen the killer. Sadly, Luc is afflicted with Alzheimer's, and his memory is unreliable. Dr. Adam Bonzado is a young and good-looking forensic anthropologist who has been called in to analyze the victims' bones, and when he starts working with Maggie, he finds himself attracted to her. Sheriff Henry Watermeier is close to retirement age. He would prefer not to get bogged down in such a difficult case when he should be taking it easy. Meanwhile, Maggie has some painful emotional baggage that troubles her, but she is determined not to let the past ruin her future.

"At the Stroke of Madness" moves along very quickly, and I finished it in less than a day. I recommend this book for readers who like a skillfully written, fast-paced, and entertaining mystery with an engrossing plot and well-drawn characters.

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Mackenzie's Mountain

Mary Elizabeth Potter is a self-appointed spinster with no illusions about love. When she meets Wolf Mackenzie, a man with a chip on his shoulder the size of Wyoming, she sets out to convince the whole town he's a man worth loving. But Wolf's not sure he's for the taming of Wolf Mackenzie.

Mackenzie's Mission

Night Wing—the revolutionary test plane with a top secret weapons system—is Colonel Joe "Breed" Mackenzie's number one priority—and weapons expert Caroline Evans his number one distraction. When someone on the inside sabotages Night Wing, Caroline's late hours and expertise come under suspicion, forcing Joe to choose between allegiance to his country…and love for his prime suspect.

• Sales Rank: #204476 in Books
• Published on: 2005-08-01
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 1.29" h x 5.20" w x 8.04" l,
• Binding: Paperback
• 496 pages

Features

• Mackenzies Mountain
• Mackenzies Mission

Review
"You can't read just one Linda Howard!"

-New York Times bestselling author Catherine Coulter

"Linda Howard writes with power, stunning sensuality and a storytelling ability unmatched in the romance drama. Every book is a treasure for the reader to savor again and again."

-New York Times bestselling author Iris Johansen

"This master storyteller takes our breath away."

-RT Book Reviews

"Linda Howard knows what readers want."

-Affaire de Coeur

About the Author

Linda Howard is the award-winning author of many New York Times bestsellers, including Up Close and Dangerous, Drop Dead Gorgeous, Cover of Night, Killing Time, To Die For, Kiss Me While I Sleep, Cry No More, and Dying to Please. She lives in Alabama with her husband and two golden retrievers.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.


He needed a woman. Bad.

Wolf Mackenzie spent a restless night, with the bright full moon throwing its silver light on the empty pillow beside him. His body ached with need, the sexual need of a healthy man, and the passing hours only intensified his frustration. Finally he got out of bed and walked naked to the window, his big body moving with fluid power. The wooden floor was icy beneath his bare feet but he welcomed the discomfort, for it cooled the undirected desire that heated his blood.

The colorless moonlight starkly etched the angles and planes of his face, living testimony to his heritage. Even more than the thick black hair worn long to touch his shoulders, even more than the heavy-lidded black eyes, his face proclaimed him Indian. It was in his high, prominent cheekbones and broad forehead, his thin lips and high-bridged nose. Less obvious, but just as fierce, was the Celtic heritage from his father, only one generation removed from the Scottish Highlands. It had refined the Indian features inherited from his mother into a face like a blade, as clean and sharply cut as it was strong. In his veins ran the blood of two of the most warlike peoples in the history of the world, Comanche and Celt. He had been a natural warrior, a fact soon discovered by the military when he had enlisted.

He was also a sensualist. He knew his own nature well, and though he controlled it, there were times when he needed a woman. He usually visited Julie Oakes at those times. She was a divorced woman, several years older, who lived in a small town fifty miles distant. Their arrangement had lasted five years; neither Wolf nor Julie was interested in marriage, but both had needs, and they liked each other. Wolf tried not to visit Julie too often, and he took care that he was never seen entering her house; he accepted the fact, unemotionally, that her neighbors would be outraged if they knew she slept with an Indian. And not just any Indian; a rape charge stuck to a man forever.

The next day was a Saturday. There would be the normal chores, and he had to pick up a load of fencing materials in Ruth, the small town just at the base of his mountain, but Saturday nights were traditionally for howling. He wouldn't howl, but he'd visit Julie and burn off his sexual tension in her bed.

The night was turning colder, and low heavy clouds were moving in. He watched until they obscured the moon, knowing they meant new snow. He didn't want to return to his empty bed. His face was impassive, but his loins ached. He needed a woman.

Mary Elizabeth Potter had numerous small chores to occupy her time that Saturday morning, but her conscience wouldn't let her rest until she had talked to Joe Mackenzie. The boy had dropped out of school two months before, a month before she had arrived to take the place of a teacher who had abruptly quit. No one had mentioned the boy to Mary, but she'd run across his school record, and curiosity had led her to read it. In the small town of Ruth, Wyoming, there weren't that many students in school, and she had thought she'd met them all. In fact, there were less than sixty students, but the graduation rate was almost one hundred percent, so any dropout was unusual. When she had read Joe Mackenzie's record, she'd been stunned. The boy had been at the top of his class, with straight A's in all subjects. Students who did poorly would get discouraged and drop out, but every teaching instinct she had was outraged that such an outstanding student would just quit. She had to talk to him, try to make him understand how important it was to his future that he continue his education. Sixteen was so young to make a mistake that would haunt him the rest of his life. She wouldn't be able to sleep at night until she had done her best to talk him into returning.

It had snowed again during the night and had turned bitterly cold. The cat meowed plaintively as it wound around her ankles, as if complaining about the weather. "I know, Woodrow," she consoled the animal. "The floor must be cold to your feet." She could sympathize. She didn't think her feet had been warm since she had moved to Wyoming.

Before another winter came, she promised herself, she would own a pair of warm, sturdy boots, fur-lined and waterproof, and she would stomp about in the snow as if she'd been doing it all her life, like a native. Actually she needed the boots now, but the expenses of moving had wiped out her cash reserves, and the teachings of her thrifty aunt prevented her from buying the boots on credit.

Woodrow meowed again as she put on the warmest, most sensible shoes she owned, the ones she privately called her "old maid schoolteacher shoes." Mary paused to scratch behind his ears, and his back arched in ecstasy. She had inherited him with the house, which the school board had arranged for her to live in; the cat, like the house, wasn't much. She had no idea how old Woodrow was, but both he and the house looked a little run-down. Mary had always resisted owning a cat—it seemed the crowning touch to an old maid's life—but finally her fate had caught up with her. She was an old maid. Now she owned a cat. And wore old maid shoes. The picture was complete.

"Water seeks its own level," she told the cat, who looked back at her with his unconcerned Egyptian gaze. "But what do you care? It doesn't hurt you that my personal water level seems to stop at sensible shoes and cats."

But as she looked in the mirror to make certain her hair was tidy, she sighed. Sensible shoes and cats were just her style, along with being pale, slight and nondescript. "Mousy" was a good word. Mary Elizabeth Potter had been born to be an old maid.

She was dressed as warmly as she could manage, unless she put on socks to wear with her sensible shoes, but she drew the line at that. Dainty white anklets with long ruffled skirts were one thing, but knee socks with a wool dress were something else entirely. She was willing to be dowdy for the sake of warmth; she was not willing to be tacky.

Well, there was no point in putting it off; it wasn't going to get any warmer until spring. Mary braced herself for the shock of cold air on a system that still expected the warmth of Savannah. She had left her tidy little nest in Georgia for the challenge of a tiny school in Wyoming, for the excitement of a different way of life; she even admitted to a small yearning for adventure, though of course she never allowed it to surface. But somehow, she hadn't taken the weather into account. She had been prepared for the snow, but not the bitter temperatures. No wonder there were so few students, she thought as she opened the door and gasped as the wind whipped at her. It was too cold for the adults to undress enough to do anything that might result in children!

She got snow in her sensible shoes when she walked to her car, a sensible two-door, midsize Chevrolet sedan, on which she had sensibly put a new set of snow tires when she had moved to Wyoming. According to the weather report on the radio that morning, the high would be seven degrees below zero. Mary sighed again for the weather she had left behind in Savannah; it was March now, and spring would be in full swing, with flowers blooming in a riot of colors.

But Wyoming was beautiful, in a wild, majestic way. The soaring mountains dwarfed the puny man-made dwellings, and she had been told that, come spring, the meadows would be carpeted in wildflowers, and the crystal-clear creeks would sing their own special song. Wyoming was a different world from Savannah, and she was just a transplanted magnolia who was having trouble getting acclimated.

She had gotten instructions on how to get to the Mackenzie residence, though the information had been reluctantly given. It puzzled her that no one seemed interested in the boy, because the people in the little town had been friendly and helpful to her. The most direct comment she had gotten had been from Mr. Hearst, the grocery-store owner, who had muttered that "the Mackenzies aren't worth your trouble." But Mary considered any child worth her trouble. She was a teacher, and she meant to teach.

As she got into her sensible car, she could see the mountain called Mackenzie's Mountain, as well as the narrow road that wound up its side like a ribbon, and she quailed inside. New snow tires notwithstanding, she wasn't a confident driver in this strange environment. Snow was… well, snow was alien, not that she'd let it stop her from doing what she had set her mind on doing.

She was already shivering so hard that she could barely fit the key into the ignition. It was so cold! It actually hurt her nose and lungs to inhale. Perhaps she should wait for better weather before attempting the drive. She looked at the mountain again. Maybe in June all of the snow would have melted… but Joe Mackenzie had already been out of school for two months. Maybe in June the gap would seem insurmountable to him, and he wouldn't make the effort. It might already be too late. She had to try, and she didn't dare let even another week go by.

It was her habit to give herself pep talks whenever she was pushing herself to do something she found difficult, so she muttered under her breath as she began the drive. "It won't seem so steep once I'm actually on the road. All uphill roads look vertical from a distance. It's a perfectly negotiable road, otherwise the Mackenzies wouldn't be able to get up and down, and if they can do it, I can do it." Well, perhaps she could do it. Driving on snow was an acquired skill, one she hadn't as yet mastered.

Determination kept her going. When she finally reached the mountain and the road tilted upward, her hands clenched on the steering wheel as she deliberately refrained from looking over the side at the increasing distance to the valley floor. Knowing how far it was possible for her to fall if she drove off the edge wouldn't help her at all; in Mary's opinion, that would be in the category of useless knowledge, of which she already had quite enough.

"I won't slide," she muttered. "I won't go fast enough to lose control. This is like the Ferris wheel. I was certain I was going to fall out, but I didn't." She had ridden the Ferris wheel once, when she'd been nine years old, and no one had ever been able to talk her into trying it again. Carousels were more her style.

"The Mackenzies won't mind if I talk to Joe," she reassured herself in an attempt to get her mind off the drive. "Maybe he had trouble with a girlfriend, and that's why he doesn't want to go to school. At his age, it's probably all blown over by now."

Actually the drive wasn't as bad as she'd feared. She began to breathe a little easier. The incline was more gradual than it had appeared, and she didn't think she had too much farther to go. The mountain wasn't as enormous as it had looked from the valley.

She was so intent on her driving that she didn't notice the red light appear on the dash. She had no warning of overheating until steam suddenly erupted from beneath the hood, the frigid air instantly converting the mist into ice crystals on the windshield. Mary instinctively hit the brakes, then uttered a discreet oath when the wheels began sliding. Quickly she lifted her foot from the brake pedal, and the tires found traction again, but she couldn't see. Closing her eyes, she prayed that she was still going in the right direction and let the car's weight slow it to a stop.

The engine was hissing and bellowing like a dragon. Shaking in reaction, she turned off the ignition and got out of the car, gasping as the wind lashed her like an icy whip. The hood release mechanism was stiff from the bitter cold, but finally yielded, and she raised the hood to see what had happened, on the grounds that it would be nice to know what was wrong with the car even if she couldn't fix it. It didn't take a mechanic to see the problem: one of the water hoses had split, and hot water was spitting fitfully from the break.

Instantly she recognized the precariousness of her position. She couldn't stay in the car, because she couldn't let the motor run to keep her warm. The road was a private one, and the Mackenzies might not leave their ranch at all that day, or that entire weekend. It was too far, and too cold, for her to walk back to her own house. Her only option was to walk to the Mackenzie ranch and pray it wasn't very far. Her feet were already numb.

She didn't let herself dwell on the thought that she might not make it to the Mackenzie ranch, either. Instead she began to walk steadily up the road and tried to ignore the snow that got inside her shoes with each step.

She rounded a curve and lost sight of her car, but when she looked ahead there was still no sign of a house, or even a barn. She felt alone, as if she had been dropped into the middle of a wilderness. There was only the mountain and the snow, the vast sky and herself. The silence was absolute. It hurt to walk, and she found that she was sliding her feet instead of picking them up. She had gone fewer than two hundred yards.

Her lips trembled as she hugged herself in an effort to retain her body's heat. Painful or not, she would just have to keep walking.

Then she heard the low growl of a powerful engine, and she stopped, relief welling in her so painfully that tears burned her eyes. She had a horror of crying in public and blinked them back. There was no sense in crying; she had been walking less than fifteen minutes and hadn't been in any real danger at all. It was just her overactive imagination, as usual. She shuffled through the snow to the side of the road, to get out of the way, and waited for the approaching vehicle.

Most helpful customer reviews

36 of 39 people found the following review helpful.
Better than Steele
By A. Churchwell
I am a long time lover of a good romance books. Danielle Steele being my favorite. Linda Howard has blown Steele out of the water. I had never heard of Linda Howard but picked this book up on a whim. It sounded good so I thought I would give it a try. I finished the whole thing (both Mountain and Misson) in two days flat. I then went in search of the rest of the Mackenzie stories and found Mackenzies Honor which has Mackenzies Pleasure and A Game of Chance. I have loved all four books but I am a bit disapointed that I could not find the story of Maris (Mackenzies Magic). I know that it was not a full length book and it is out of print. The other four were out of print too so it seems like they could have included Magic in one of the compiled bookes. I have a hunger to know about Maris and I hope it is re-released soon.

Anyhow, I have since read more than 10 more of Linda Howard's books and have liked them all but none compare to the Mackenzies. I completely fell in love. I am working my way through all of her books and have not been disapointed yet. Howard delivers a wonderful story in each of her books. She is the best author I have come across yet.

8 of 9 people found the following review helpful.
Classic Howard
By Ladonna Krett
I just started reading Linda Howard novels this year and I read the last of the series about the Mackenzie family first and then had to try and find the first of the series. Fortunately Mira decided to republish these in double books. I enjoyed reading the whole series. Each book is able to stand alone even if you never read the other three books. It was a very enjoyable read, fast paced and interesting. Wolf, Mary and Joe are all very finely drawn believeable characters. The story line was kept me interested and did not seem to be a formula. Linda Howard's writing style is fast paced and I can easily read one of her books in a day. Her comtempory romances are especially good. Hope Linda Howard keeps on writing for a long time to come.

12 of 15 people found the following review helpful.
Classic Linda Howard
By Jennifer Banker
Both of these stories are great. I thought Wolfs story more intence then Joe's was but I think that come from the difference in the plots of the two stories.

I loved all the characters and was very satisfied with Joes story.

Great books and that they come under one cover is a steal. I am waiting for the rest of the Mackenzies, love Linda Howard.

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On the run from a dangerous killer, Blaine Anderson, the wife of a prominent attorney, becomes Mary Blaine, a homeless woman, while her husband, believing her to be dead, puts his aspiring political career at risk as he searches for the truth.

• Sales Rank: #399324 in Books
• Brand: Mira
• Published on: 2004-08-01
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 1.05" h x 4.34" w x 6.76" l,
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 384 pages

Features

• Great product!

From Publishers Weekly
Beautiful Blaine Anderson, who lives in a posh Austin, Tex., townhouse with her lawyer husband, Mark, seems to have it all. In reality, she's a timid trophy wife who's secretly terrified by city traffic, threatened by change and especially frightened that her possible pregnancy might further alienate the career-driven Mark. To find out if she really is pregnant, Blaine visits a women's free clinic, but while she's there, the clinic is bombed in an apparent act of anti-abortion terrorism. Blaine soon realizes that the bombing was an unfathomable attempt by Mark's senior partner to kill her. Unable to contact her husband without endangering him, the injured and bewildered Blaine lives among the homeless, and in doing so confronts her fears as well as a relentless killer. Thomas (The Widows of Wichita County, etc.) skillfully, and at times humorously, depicts the various street characters who assist Blaine, and she does an excellent job of portraying Mark's moving metamorphosis—with the help of an irresistibly eccentric old lady neighbor—from cold careerist to caring human being. By the book's end, the author has believably revitalized the dead-end relationship of two emotionally numbed people.
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

About the Author
New York Times bestselling author Jodi Thomas is a fifth-generation Texan who sets many of her stories in her home state, where her grandmother was born in a covered wagon. She is a certified marriage and family counselor, a Texas Tech graduate and writer-in-residence at West Texas A&M University. She lives with her husband in Amarillo, Texas.

Most helpful customer reviews

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Great story
By Girv
Highly recommend
Was looking for a book to take to the beach and this was perfect
One of Jody Thomas best.

10 of 10 people found the following review helpful.
exhilarating romantic suspense
By A Customer
In Austin, Texas, Blaine and Mark Anderson barely talk to one another as their lives have become comfortably managed by him. An attorney, Mark is considering running for public office, but does not contemplate Blaine's fears of public appearances. Mark goes on to work while Blaine leaves him a note that she is going to a clinic and they need to talk later.

An explosion rips through the clinic killing some people including a nurse holding Blaine's coat and rings while she was being examined. Blaine, now knowing she is pregnant, survives in a daze, but the papers declare her dead when Mark recognizes her jewelry.

Unable to reach her spouse, Blaine goes undercover using her first and middle name Mary Blaine hiding in a homeless environment as the bomber, realizing she lived, searches for her. When Mark learns his wife is alive, he begins a street search for her because he loves her and rejects the notion that she just simply left him. With the help of street people, Blaine survives and makes friends, but the killer is coming and aid from her spouse is cut off by his employer.

FINDING MARY BLAINE is an exhilarating romantic suspense that focuses on a mousy heroine surviving by befriending street people. The story line moves forward at a fast clip, but readers gain an appreciation for Mary, Mark, and several folks she befriends. Though the inability to reach Mark seems odd in an age of communication even with his mentor manipulating much of the scenario, fans will appreciate this rousing look at the plight of the homeless wrapped inside an exciting thriller.

Harriet Klausner

8 of 9 people found the following review helpful.
Most captivating book I have read in a long time!
By Shanyeah
This is truely one of the most heartwarming and captivating stories I have read in quite some time! The storyline was something very new and exciting. Unlike any book I have read. I found myself bursting into tears one minute, then biting my nails in suspense as Mary (Blaine) runs for her life! My husband even got a tad angry at me because I brought this book in the car and read on our way out to eat dinner...I could not put it down..I was so captivated. I believe you will not regret reading this wonderfully written book, it will touch your heart and make you take a look around your life as to what is REALLY important in your life.

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A dangerous cult has recently taken over the desert ghost town of Paradise, Arizona. Members worship at the feet—and in the bed—of its charismatic leader, Ethan Wycliff, and obey his orders blindly. They've already tried to murder one woman and they're implicated in the disappearance of another.

Nate Ferrentino, who works for private security contractor Department 6, has been assigned to infiltrate this group. It's a challenge he welcomes—until he learns that colleague Rachel Jessop will be going undercover with him. Thanks to their shared history, he'd much rather go alone….

The problem is, only married couples can participate in cult rituals. So, like it or not—and they don't—Rachel and Nate must pretend to be husband and wife.

There's no choice. Because if Wycliff isn't exposed, if he isn't stopped, more people will die. And Rachel might be one of them.

• Sales Rank: #1219078 in Books
• Brand: Mira
• Published on: 2010-07-27
• Released on: 2010-07-27
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 6.62" h x 1.23" w x 4.21" l,
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 400 pages

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• Great product!

From Booklist
As an employee of Department 6, a private security company, Rachel Jessop knew there would be difficult and dangerous assignments; but as far as Rachel is concerned, working with fellow operative Nate Ferrentino should qualify for hazard pay. Unfortunately, the only way into Paradise, the former Arizona ghost town and current residence of the Church of the Covenant and its charismatic leader Ethan Wycliff, is if Rachel and Nate are married. Rachel knows Ethan has to be stopped. Not only did the cult almost kill a woman by stoning her for her sins, there also seems to be some connection between the church and the recent disappearance of a teen. Given their own tangled romantic past, working with Nate is bound to be challenging; but then again, no one ever said working for Department 6 would be easy. Novak expertly blends romantic thrills, suspenseful chills, and realistically complicated characters together in a white-knuckle read that is certain to keep readers riveted to the last page. --John Charles

About the Author

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Brenda Novak has penned over 45 novels. A two-time Rita nominee, she's won The National Reader's Choice, The Bookseller's Best, The Bookbuyer's Best and many other awards. She runs an annual online auction for diabetes research every May at www.brendanovak.com. To date, she’s raised over $2 million. Brenda considers herself lucky to be a mother of five and married to the love of her life.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.


Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.

—King James Bible, Matthew 7:15

"This guy is dangerous?" Rachel Jessop studied the glossy black-and-white photograph her manager slid across the table.

Nate Ferrentino's leather chair squeaked as he leaned back and locked his hands behind his head. "He doesn't look dangerous to you?" One eyebrow arched, telling her he found her reaction amusing, but she couldn't begin to guess why, and she'd worked with him long enough to know he wouldn't explain even if she asked. With short dark hair and green, gold-flecked eyes, he had the face of a sensitive man who'd become cynical and the body of a soldier. Nate was a tempting physical specimen. But he wasn't one to reveal much about his thoughts.

Rachel wished that was all she knew about her boss. When she'd first started working at Department 6 eight months ago, she'd been so convinced she'd met the one man she could love with all her heart, she'd made a humiliating miscalculation. The embarrassment of that incident still burned so intensely she could barely look at him.

Ignoring the way his T-shirt stretched over his clearly defined pecs, she kept her focus on Ethan Wycliff, the man in the picture. Wiry and with the appearance of some height, Ethan had polish to spare—high cheekbones, black hair, black eyes and a beguiling smile. "He's too pretty to seem dangerous. He could be on billboards, modeling suits for Armani. What's he done?"

Except for possibly height, Nate was Ethan's opposite. Although he wasn't overweight by any stretch of the imagination, slender wasn't an adjective that came to mind. Pretty and polished didn't fit, either. He was handsome, but not in the classic sense of movie stars and models. His forehead was a bit too wide, his jaw too square. And he had too many scars—both from when he was a navy SEAL and from working for Department 6 after he'd left the military.

"Depends on who you talk to," he said. "There's a chance that none of it's illegal, but the secrecy surrounding him and his group is making some important people nervous."

Rachel shoved the picture back in Nate's direction, but he didn't move to reclaim it. He let Ethan Wycliff's image remain on the table, eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling of the small conference room—one of several in the L.A. office. Unlike other security contractors, Department 6 rarely handled military operations. They specialized in undercover work, generally inside the U.S.

"What's he suspected of doing?" she asked. "Laundering money? Smuggling drugs? Working in the sex-slave trade?"

"He's the leader of a religious cult about two hundred members strong."

That was the last thing she'd expected Nate to say. Judging by Ethan's elegant business suit, he had taste. He wasn't sporting a scraggly beard, wasn't beggarly or odd-looking in any way. Neither did he appear smarmy like some televangelists she'd seen. Not in the photograph, anyway. "What kind of religious cult?"

"A Christian cult. Sort of. It seems to be a compilation of whatever Ethan wants it to be. He and his followers call their organization the Church of the Covenant. One thing they believe is that the world is coming to an end very soon. Only those who are properly branded—"

"You mean, tattooed?" she cut in.

"No, I mean, branded—and baptized and living within the gates of their little commune—will rule with God."

"That's not particularly creative." She'd heard plenty of the same rhetoric in her own house growing up. For most of her life her father and the leaders of his small sect had claimed that the world was in its "last days." They'd named date after date when Armageddon would arrive. Every one had come and gone. "How'd he get his start?"

"Five years ago, he was a popular frat boy at Cornell. I guess he and a few roommates went out in the woods and devised their own religion, loosely based on the Old Testament's patriarchal order. Our intelligence report indicates that it was originally meant to be a joke. Drugs were involved. They called it the 'antireligion.'

But when they began meeting regularly, word spread among the kids at Cornell and other colleges in nearby communities, somehow generating support, and it became real."

"Power is tough to resist, especially for an Ivy League frat boy who's used to being on top of the world."

"That's my take, too."

She glanced away from Nate so she wouldn't squirm in her seat at the memories that overwhelmed her whenever their eyes met. "How many of his roommates still belong to this so-called religion?"

"The original four are still with him. They're known as 'spiritual guides' now and they're part of the Brethren, the twelve men who form a close circle around him. A fifth roommate, one who joined a bit later, is dead."

"Dead?" she echoed. "At twenty-something?"

"He was killed in a drunk-driving accident after a meeting. There are a few unanswered questions but no real proof that it was anything other than that."

She considered what she'd just been told. "What's so appealing about his religion that others are interested in joining up?"

"It's mostly familiar stuff but with a modern twist. It includes extramarital sex and drug use. And Wycliff has a few assets—besides his looks—that make him more dangerous than most cult leaders."

She ignored his reference to her appreciation of Wycliff's appearance and scooted closer to the table. But the instant she caught Nate's scent, that mix of clean male and leather that would forever differentiate him from every other man, the memory of slipping into his bed to "surprise" him came to her as vividly as the night she'd done it. Would the mortification never go away?

He gave her a speculative look, as if he could suddenly sense an added level of discomfort, but she was determined to pretend she'd forgotten all about her terrible faux pas. As a child, she'd been sheltered so long she hadn't grown up with the usual interplay between the sexes and, apparently, hadn't read his signals correctly. She'd thought he wanted the same thing.

Keeping her gaze steady, she struggled, once again, to forget that night. "And those assets are…"

"More charisma than any man has a right to, at least a man who once idolized Charles Manson."

"Charles Manson? Are you serious?"

He chose a file from a stack he'd brought in with him, and thumbed through it while he talked. "Dead serious. Wycliff corresponded with Manson regularly while he was in high school. I've got copies of some of those letters here."

"Was their correspondence a joke at first, too?"

"He played it that way, used to read Manson's letters aloud to various people he knew, including his parents. His mother said he liked the shock value. His father claims he's always been fascinated with killers. Especially Manson, because of the brutality of the Tate murders and the power Manson held over those who committed them."

"Why would they allow him to correspond with someone like Manson?"

"It started out as what Ethan called 'a psychological study.' He said he wanted to major in behavioral science when he went to college."

She shivered. "But couldn't they see where it was going? These letters make me more than a little nervous."

"They should've made everyone nervous." He offered the file for her perusal.

Careful not to brush his hand, she accepted it but merely placed it in front of her, because he was still talking.

"At first his parents saw only what they wanted to see and hoped his interest was professional, as he'd claimed. He didn't read them what he wrote to Manson. He kept that private, so the bits and pieces they heard of Manson's letters made it sound as if Manson was the only crazy one."

"So how did we get copies of the letters?"

"You know how closely prison mail is monitored. Once his father finally became uneasy, he paid a correctional officer to keep an eye on the budding relationship. It was that guy who made copies. But he worked certain days and shifts, of course, and the letters that came and went on someone else's watch were lost."

"Why didn't dear old dad put a stop to the letters once he saw what they contained?"

"His wife insisted it was just a 'phase' Ethan was going through, that he was purposely trying to provoke Manson, the same way he tried to provoke everyone else. And then the problem seemed to solve itself. Ethan grew disenchanted with Manson, quit writing him and the relationship ended."

"But that was a pretty ominous start, and it led to a bigger problem."

"Exactly. Now Ethan's set himself up as a prophet, the Holy One, the man to lead all Christians to enlightenment."

"And let me guess—enlightenment happens after this life."

"With your background, I knew you'd be familiar with the dogma."

Far more than she wanted to be. She'd tried hard to distance herself from the brainwashing she'd undergone as a child, but it wasn't easy to put all those hours of religious "instruction" behind her. Not when there were so many lasting effects, some of which she blamed for the embarrassing blunder she'd made with Nate six months ago.

"Sounds as if he's as whacked as Manson," she mused. Or, like her father, his teachings and devotions could be similar enough to mainstream religions to fall within what society deemed "normal." Not that her father's "normal" was normal to most people. From the moment she got home from school every day, Fredrick Jessop had kept her under lock and key, forced her to read the Bible for hours on end and go to church three or four times a week. Until she'd left home at seventeen, he'd had complete control. Even after she was on her own, she'd been so well trained she was twenty-five before she lost her virginity; at that point she'd finally slept with a man just to punish her father after an argument. That had turned out to be such a bad experience, so cheap and unsatisfying, she hadn't had sex again until she met Nate. But, for different reasons, her encounter with Nate had been even more disappointing than the original one.

"He might be crazy," Nate said. "But making up your own religion isn't a crime. You know that better than most."

Her father and his cronies had done it, hadn't they? "So what law has Ethan broken?"

Nate's broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. "That's the reason for this assignment—to find out."

She'd already assumed as much. But she wasn't comfortable with the religious element. Her background dealing with religious zealots had taught her there was no way to win, no way to argue any doctrine logically because people like her father always referred to the illogical to back up their beliefs.

"Do you think I have the experience for this?" she asked. Before coming to Department 6, she'd worked undercover for the LAPD, pretending to be a prostitute, as well as helping in some drug busts. Since hiring on at Department 6, she'd continued with drug enforcement, generally contract labor for the DEA. Bottom line, she'd specialized in something that was more straightforward, easier to fight. And she liked it that way.

"You have as much experience with this type of thing as anyone else at Department 6," he said.

That was probably true. They all did more drug work than anything else. "There must be something besides his affiliation with Manson that's brought this man to our attention," she said. "I'm guessing there are a lot of whack jobs who've contacted Manson over the years."

"A woman by the name of Martha Wilson recently escaped from the commune," Nate explained.

Now they were talking. "Another interesting word choice, seeing that escaped has the connotation of being held against her will."

"Her word," he said. "She claimed Wycliff punished her for sleeping with her own husband."

"I thought sex was dealt with in a more liberal fashion in this commune."

"It is. But she was on 'restriction.'"

Because it was beyond awkward to talk about sex with Nate after what had occurred between them, Rachel tried to cover her anxiety by toying with the edge of the file in front of her. "You're kidding."

"Nope. Otherwise, sex is open to anyone, married or unmarried, as long as both people are consenting and of age."

"Now I see why Ethan's attracting converts. Religious endorsement of drugs and sex. No willpower required. What's not to like?"

His lips quirked in a wry smile. "It's not quite as simple as it might sound."

"With religion, it never is," she muttered.

"Only those who live according to various 'higher laws'—" he made quotation marks with his fingers "—gain that benefit. But there's a cost. Once you join, you begin a process that culminates in embracing certain rituals that go with these laws. We're not sure what these rituals are. We got most of this information from what was reported in the papers. Martha was vocal about the group's abuse, but less so about their beliefs."

"And Milt can't get more information?" Milton Berger owned the company. Slightly eccentric, he was basically a wealthy businessman who'd never spent a day in the field. At forty-five, he drank and smoked so much he couldn't possibly run the forty-yard dash. But he had an eye for talent and a talent for making money.

"He's relying on us to figure out the rest."

"Do you know what the prize is?"

"The prize?" he repeated.

"What do the people in Ethan's religion get for living these supposed higher laws? There's always a prize for good behavior. It's usually called salvation."

"They're admitted into 'the Holy One's' inner sanctum and become sanctified like he is. Or something like that. Again, there might be more to it."

Remembering what she'd been taught regarding the few elect who would rule with God, she made a face. "How do people fall for this crap?" She'd been steeped in it and still couldn't buy it, although there'd been plenty of times she'd wished she could. It would've made her life so much easier.

"I think psychologists say they're not happy with the world in which they're living. Some want to prove how unique and special they are. Others are just hoping to feel as if they belong." He drummed his fingers on the table. "But who really knows? Motivations are as individual as people."

"Doesn't sound to me like the world they're building will be any better than the one we've got." No matter how hard her father and brother had tried to convince her that the afterlife was all that mattered. "How badly did Ethan Wycliff beat the woman who escaped?"

"She says it wasn't him. It was a public event—a stoning modeled after those in the Bible."

She stiffened. "Stoning is a death sentence in the Bible."

"Martha managed to escape."

"How?"

Most helpful customer reviews

11 of 13 people found the following review helpful.
White Heat reviewed by The Book Vixen
By Brianna
Why I Read this Book: I have been reading quite of few romantic suspense novels lately and what I found out is that I really enjoy reading this sub-genre. I am also fascinated with CSI and forensics. So when I came across this book, it caught my interest. Though, I was a bit concerned about the religious cult element and I had hoped it wouldn't be too overbearing. So much for wishful thinking.

What I Liked: The plot was well thought out. The religious cult that the author created was scarily surreal. We hear about cults like these in the news from time to time and this author nailed it right on the head.

The infiltration process was interesting, exciting and felt like a dangerous thrill ride. I was turning page after page, on the edge of my seat, waiting to find out how things were going to end. Once the action started happening, there was no putting this book down.

What I Didn't Like: White Heat was heavy on the religious cult, and I mean lay it on thick heavy! Yes, I know that was the plot of the story before going in but it was a bit overwhelming.

I love tension, especially between the two main characters, but the characters also need have to chemistry. The air was filled with thick tension between Nate and Rachel but I wasn't feeling the chemistry. And the love scenes between them left more to be desired. They were short and not too telling. I was hoping for steamy love scenes and unfortunately it was more fizzle than sizzle. The back story of the awkward feelings between Nate and Rachel wasn't convincing, especially on Rachel's part.

Overall Impression: White Heat was an okay read. It was a bit too long for my taste, especially with the lack of "heat" between the two main characters. Reading this book helped me figure out what I like and don't like in a romantic suspense. I'm big on romance and unfortunately romance took a back seat in this book. If you're looking for a book that focuses more on suspense and action, rather than romance, then White Heat is for you. Even though I didn't love this book, I thought it was well written for the most part.

5 of 6 people found the following review helpful.
More Fizzle Than Sizzle
By Antigone Walsh
Brenda Nowak is one of the best authors of romantic suspense. Known for writing trilogies, she can usually be relied on to produce a highly readable engrossing series. White Heat is the first in her series featuring a secretive security agency, Department Six. This novel has former Navy SEAL Nate paired with former cop and security newbie Rachel. They have been tapped to infiltrate a mysterious cult lead by the handsome and charasimatic sociopath Ethan. Ethan and his followers have made an Arizona ghost town their base and are suspected of nefarious doings including the attempted stoning of a woman and the disappearance of another. The catch is that the cult only accepts married couples leading Nate and Rachel to address their undeniable attraction for each other.

Unfortunately this book is more fizzle than sizzle. The first two thirds is painfully slow and filled with juvenile banter between Nate and Rachel. Rachel, it seems, had a one night stand with her supervisoer,Nate. He of course was more than willing to jump her bones but freaked when she blurted out that she loved him. It appears that he had a lover who attempted to suicide after he broke off with her and since then has been afraid of "love". That Rachel, a woman who is supposedly intelligent and familiar with the sexual politics in law enforecement, would bed down her superior based on some subliminal cues is ridiculous. That Nate, as a superviser would be so stupid to bed a subordinate in these litigious days is equally unbelievable. Factor in Rachel's own fanatacal religioius upbringing, and the situation becomes even sillier. It would have been far more believeable that neither one would jump into bed and instead battle those grwowing feelings while attempting to maintain professional decorum.

The story picks up once they infiltrate the cult and the last third is pretty exciting if not really believable.Far more interesting than Nate and Rachel is the homosexual courtshipof Ethan and his ugly evil henchman Bartholomew. The seduction,manipulation and betrayal were far more compelling. The remaining cult members were undeveloped making the ultimate ending weak. The epilogue leaves alot to be desired as far as the fates of the bad guys, the client and some of the very interesting minor characters (little deaf girl and her grandparents). So while this book is okay,it is not this author's best work.

2 of 2 people found the following review helpful.
White Hot, More Like It
By KJMReviews
It was a horrible experience that jump-started New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Brenda Novak's career-- she caught her daycare teacher drugging her children to get them to sleep. Deciding she needed to work from home, she penned her first novel, and has been a sensation ever since. Other titles include: Trust Me, Watch Me, Stop Me, Dead Silence, Dead Giveaway, Dead Right, The Perfect Couple, The Perfect Murder, and The Perfect Liar. She also heads an annual fundraiser for diabetes research every May. Brenda resides in Sacramento, California with her husband and five children.

A dangerous and elusive cult has taken over the ghost town of Paradise, Arizona. Members worship at the feet, and bed, of their leader, Ethan Wycliff. But a woman has escaped, relaying a horrid ordeal of what really goes on inside their gates, worse than what anyone can fathom. Now, another woman has gone missing. A private security contractor known as Department 6 has been assigned to infiltrate the cult and bring them down. Nate Ferrentino and Rachel Jessop aren't too happy about this mission, especially because their shared history could put a wedge in plans or expose them to further danger. Posing as a married couple is their only shot at stopping the madness before more people die. And as more secrets are revealed, it seems as if Rachel might be next.

This is book one in this new series, with Body Heat coming in September, and Killer Heat in October of this year.

There are many things to love about Brenda Novak's writing-- her characters are always fresh, the danger real, the plot well-paced, the romance hot, the setting ideal, and the action gripping. But what I love most is that readers are inside the heads of the "bad guys" as often as the "good guys." It makes for a well-balanced compelling read, and, at times, feeling for the villains. Setting this book in a desert ghost town couldn't have been more perfect, as it gives the reader a real sense of isolation and aloneness needed for this plot. I also bow down to the stellar array of secondary characters which made this all the more a page-turner. Lastly, though the lead characters were strong, Rachel isn't a hard-core heroine, nor Nate a dominant A-typical hero. A must read book to what's proving to be a must read series!

Kelly Moran
Author of SUMMER'S ROAD,
and Reviewer for Bookpleasures

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