The Project Morpheus series: Military romance, steamy passion, and heart-stopping suspense.
The Morpheus Squad: Ultimate soldiers who hide in plain sight, fierce protectors risking their existence for those they love ... and virally-altered, ticking time bombs.
A military dude who thinks 'haute' is a temperature setting must help a flighty fashionista create the fashion show of the decade ... before it becomes the world's most explosive catwalk!
Ex-Special Forces soldier, Alfred "Red" Newman, never met a mission he couldn't execute—with or without enhanced abilities. But protecting whirling dervish fashion student, Britt McNeill? The tough veteran will need combat pay and Excedrin. If he can't shield her from Beau Lequire, a power-hungry CFO whose need for revenge has no limits, then Britt won't be a pawn in Lequire's sick game. She'll be dead.
After battling anxiety and devastating losses in her personal life, Britt longs to make her family proud and accomplish her dream of becoming a fashion designer. Enter Red, a transfer student who can't tell the difference between plaid and paisley, but whose unnaturally-quick reflexes ... and scorching kisses ... knock her off stride. When Red demands that she ditch her senior project to go into hiding? No way. The show must go on.
Foreplay for most normal people didn’t create stark terror that they would accidentally rip the limbs off their partner.
Red took another breath and tried to get hold of the viral impulses. Unfortunately, Britt got hold of him first.
His eyes rolled back in his head as she stroked him through the fabric of his briefs. Her fingertips drifting over the stretchy material, sounding like silk over leather to his ears. Tasted like thick spices. Smelled like desire. Senses coalesced again, tinting his world red. Red needed more. The virus needed more. Pronto. Minus the underwear.
Gentle. He had to be gentle. Even now, he was losing control of the amount of force he applied when gripping her upper arms.
She squeaked but didn’t stop the action of her hand on him. “Why are you holding back?” She ran her thumb and fingers up and down his covered length until his vision went blurry.
“Don’t want to hurt you,” he gritted out. God help him, he would keep her safe in all respects.
“It would hurt more if you didn’t share all of yourself,” she murmured.
No way did she truly understand what she asked, given the kind of creature that stood in front of her. “I’m physically stronger than you, Britt.” An understatement. He was stronger than nearly anyone in this universe. The words tore out of his throat as he swallowed. “I could cause you pain.”
“I will feel pain if you don’t kiss me again.” Her voice was like he imagined expensive champagne would taste—layers of delicious bubbles and flavors tempting him to drink deeply, again and again.
He opened one eye. With her hand still resting on his hard erection, she smiled, catlike, arching her back and enticing him. Her light skin was marred by the bruises on her neck. His rage spiked, quickly followed by the need to replace injury with pleasure. He would give the lady what she wanted. Anything.
Licking his lips, he bent his head. “Can’t have you suffer, then.” He laved one tight breast with his mouth while he rolled the other nipple between his fingers. Her gasp ran down him like a cool breeze, invigorating, enticing. He needed more oxygen than his body could obtain.
As he sucked her nipple between his lips and flicked his tongue over the tip, she clenched her grip on his neck, shooting bolts of is-it-my-turn right through his dick.
“Al,” she breathed.
What she’d give to call him his actual name. Secrets. This entire experience was built on half-truths. A twinge of guilt nailed him in the solar plexus.
Hey, he couldn’t change the facts of the situation, but he could focus on the here and now. Right now he wanted to taste every bit of the woman squirming in his arms. The throb in his leg from tonight’s injury faded away, replaced by a different kind of throb.
He lifted his head from her chest and kissed her deeply until they both panted. “What do you want, sweets?”
“I want you.”
He smiled. “Be more specific. You’re in control tonight.” He palmed her breasts, panting as his fingers pressed into the softness. Don’t let me hurt her.
God, he hoped his transfer of control to her wasn’t wishful thinking. Even now, with an iron-willed grip on his baser viral impulses, he continued to run that knife’s edge where he could lose his ability to restrain the virus that begged him even now to throw her on the floor, spread her legs, and plunge in as deeply as humanly possible. And never stop until she had been marked as his, inside and out. The virus wanted release, relief, completion. It wanted Britt. Now.
The viral need left little room for what she wanted, and Red would be damned if he wouldn’t focus on her desires at this moment.
The way she ducked her head and smiled wasn’t innocent. That little gesture held the promise of a plan in mind. Red tilted her chin up. “Tell me what I can do for you. To you.”
“This is so much…” Her wavering gaze brushed past him then away. Her soft voice nearly drove him to his knees. She blinked. “Can we use the back of the couch?”
Anything she wanted, he would make it work. “How?” Of course, Red had plenty of ideas, but he needed to fulfill her wishes.
After a pause, she stepped away from him, reaching under that short skirt to pull off the scrap of panties. All Britt had on was her short, crinkly skirt. And those silver booties. Then she leaned forward on the couch, looking back over her shoulder as if for approval.
Oh, he approved all right. Ever muscle in his body tensed, wanting to grab her, to stroke her. To be inside of her.
God help him, but her lean, smooth thighs disappeared under the skirt. That damned skirt had tempted Red all night long with what was hidden beneath. Even now, it still concealed his view of what he wanted most, but he was one step closer to finding out.
When he didn’t move, she gave a small groan and straightened up, pushing away from the couch. “Um, my bad. This is silly. Never mind.”
“No. Hell, no,” he growled. “Go right back where you were. Please.” He bit his thumb as she looked back at him. “I want to take it all in, how smoking hot and sexy you are. How lucky I am. All of it.”
“Okay,” she said, and he inhaled that one smoky incense word.
In this position, Britt willingly made herself vulnerable as she continued to watch over her shoulder, eyes wide. He recognized the gift. Trust. Safety. There was nothing that could compel him to betray her. Ever.
Stepping forward, he wrapped his hands around that tiny waist, absorbing her shudder at the first contact. Then he took his sweet time stroking every inch of her back, arms, and sides. He ran a hand up her neck, gripping her hair and tugging her head back. His arms shook as he controlled his strength. When he bent to kiss her shoulder, Britt’s knuckles whitened on the cushions. Her rib cage expanded and contracted, more quickly now. Little sighs and moans drifted back to him.
He wanted to give her pleasure, more than he wanted air.
For one night, he wanted something for himself, too. He wanted to be the reason why she felt safe and cherished. For one night, he wanted to exist in a world far from the reality they faced.
As he slid his hands lower over her narrow hips, he crushed the skirt fabric in his fists with a delicious, buttery popcorn crinkle. With superhuman effort, he quelled the urge to rip the garment off her. Instead, he stroked her butt and the backs of her lean thighs.
The tiny caramel moan whetted his appetite even more. He slid his foot between her legs and gently kicked them apart. Still he couldn’t see what he wanted, thanks to that damned skirt.
He let his fingers discover her instead.