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Informationen zum Autor Cherry Adair has garnered numerous awards for her innovative action-adventure novels! which include White Heat ! Hot Ice ! On Thin Ice ! Out of Sight ! In Too Deep ! Hide and Seek ! and Kiss and Tell ! as well as her thrilling Edge trilogy: Edge of Danger ! Edge of Fear ! and Edge of Darkness ! and her bestselling Lodestone series. A favorite of reviewers and fans alike! she lives in the Pacific Northwest. Cherry Adair ONE Venezuela Tuesday 5:33 A.M. Three things happened simultaneously: the soft, warm curve of a woman’s bare ass tucked enticingly against Zakary Stark’s good-morning-happy-to-feel-you erection, the familiar gut-wrenching realization that she was the wrong woman, and the cold hard metal of a gun barrel pressed to his temple. The tantalizing fragrance of fresh, jasmine-scented female, coupled with the erotic base note of last night’s sex, was obliterated by the sour stench of stale male sweat. Fuckit. Hell of a way to start the day. Zak’s heartbeat ratcheted up a notch, and his entire body stiffened in reaction to the threat. “¡No te muevas!” Pure menace infused the instruction to remain still; the words, spoken in the local dialect and punctuated by another motivational jab a millimeter from his eye, got Zak’s head back in the game. Zak spoke fluent Spanish, but he wasn’t going to show his hand until he knew what the guy wanted. His gut urged him to get the hell off the swaybacked mattress. Fast. But he wasn’t going to be speedy enough to beat the man’s finger on that trigger. He processed the situation. While he was all for taking crazy risks in an attempt at kick-starting a spark of giving a shit about life in general, he wasn’t alone. He might not give a flying fuck if he died one way or the other, but Zak suspected the woman probably didn’t hold the same disregard for her life as he did for his. He was no goddamn hero. Pissed him off to be put in a position where he had to accept that he was going to be responsible either for another woman’s death or, worse, for ensuring that she stayed alive. Hero or coward. It was a toss-up which would kill him quicker. The bed was shoved against the wall, and she lay between him and the man with the gun. God damn it. He hated guns. Kathy? Christy? … the American he’d met in the bar the night before went from limp to tense between one heartbeat and the next as she realized they weren’t alone. Zak cracked open the eye not pressed into the fragrant curve of her neck and looked through a mass of corn silk blond hair. Fuckit. Not just one intruder. In the murky light of dawn he made out three silhouettes, and heard the shuffle of several more pairs of boots out of his line of sight. Fatigues. Boots. Weapons. More than an audience. A whole fucking predawn party. Military? Locals? Guerrillas? Three crappy choices. Lips against the woman’s ear, Zak whispered, “Stay still,” and felt the uneven thud of her accelerated heartbeat beneath the hand cupped around her breast. She let out a small shuddering breath and froze as he spoke more loudly to the guy with the gun. “I’m unarmed.” She unfroze. “¡Él no tener una arma!” she translated urgently in bad Spanish. Jesus. “He got it the first time,” Zak snarled. “Don’t move, don’t talk.” Don’t be so fucking conspicuous. Impossible. Her lush body was displayed like a delectable smorgasbord, ripe for the taking and within easy reach, on the sex-tangled sheet. Christ, there was nothing more than a sheen of sweat gluing their entwined limbs together...
