Hot Ride is out tomorrow!

Hot Ride is a little different for me. Those of you who read my books know that I write hot, sexy books,and have no fear, Hot Ride is still hot and sexy! But it's a little darker, a little gritter. 

Courage is feeling the fear...then pouring on the throttle...

I did a lot of research for this story and I will fully admit that Hot Ride is probably not realistic in its happy ending. There are sad, disturbing stories out there about real life agents who went so far undercover that their lives were never really the same again. These agents sacrifice their real lives and families, often at the cost of their marriage and relationships with their children. I admire that kind of dedication to their cause, to their desire to take down the "bad guys", but I had to have a happy ending for my characters. Nonetheless, Sera and Ryan face some sacrifices and tough choices during their undercover assignment.

There's a lot of stress and tension undercover. When one biker is going to kill another, how do they stop that from happening without blowing their cover? When Ryan gets hurt, how do they go for medical treatment without blowing their cover or sitting waiting for hours in the ER because they have no insurance? When they're offered meth and marijuana, how do they maintain their cover without doing drugs? When one of the bikers is physically punishing his wife, how do they step in and stop it and protect her without blowing their covers? When Ryan's mother dies and the bikers are more sympathetic than his coworkers, how does he maintain his professional distance, knowing he'll be testifying against them when they're arrested? When female bikers are hitting on Ryan to the point their boyfriends are getting jealous, how does Ryan protect himself and maintain the relationships he's built in the gang?

  

They face struggles like becoming personally involved with the criminals they are trying to take down.  Difficult decisions about who to save...and who they can't save. The problem of becoming personally involved with each other when they're work colleagues, but when they're living together like a couple, how can they not get involved?

Here's a short excerpt from Hot Ride:

Beck and the men began talking about an upcoming rally in El Mirage in Nevada. She pretended an interest but her eyes scanned the bar, head nodding in time to the whining guitar and guttural lyrics of Metallica’s Death Magnet. Most of the patrons of the bar wore their colors, making no secret of the fact that this was a Death Angels hangout. Men with long hair, beards and arms sleeved with tattoos mingled with cleaner-cut guys, some with neatly trimmed goatees and short hair. Most of them were big—was that a requirement?— although in some cases size had more to do with fat than muscle.

She cocked a hip, took a big swallow of the cold beer, bubbles biting at her nose and throat, and took in her surroundings, moving her gaze to the others seated at the bar. From where she stood at the end, no stools left to sit on, she could see the face of every man seated there. Every man except one, who’d swiveled on his stool to watch the pool game. His leather jacket obscured his shape other than wide, wide shoulders, giving an impression of massive strength. A piece of red cord held his dark hair tied at his nape.

Then he turned around and she saw his face. Hoo. Now that was a good-looking biker. A well-shaped mouth, a square chin and high cheekbones could have been pretty boy, but thick, straight brows drawn down into a near-scowl above deep-set eyes gave him a badass, don’t-fuck-with-me attitude.

He turned his head and his eyes met hers. She blinked in surprise at the physical reaction she felt to his gaze, a clenching low down inside her, a flare of heat. Interest sparked in his eyes. A corner of his mouth kicked up and one brow lifted.

Well, why not? If she was going to get in with these guys, might as well do it with the best-looking one. Those suits in L.A. had accused her of being too feminine. Didn’t they know the advantage that gave her? So she flashed him her smile and gave him a slow wink.

He smiled back, and along with the badass attitude, he became even more…appealing. She held his gaze long enough to let her own interest show before turning back to Beck, lifting her bottle to her mouth.

“Gotta talk to A.J.,” Zocco said. “Come on, Beck.” Zocco rose off his stool to tower over her. God, he must be six-foot-five. She was five-seven, but he was a monster.

“Yeah. A.J. Come on, Sara.” Beck gestured and with a shrug, she followed him down the bar, toward the man she’d eye-locked with a few minutes ago. Beck and Zocco stopped and addressed the guy next to him.

“A.J. Man, you got those parts I asked you about the other day?”

A.J. shook his head. “Talk to Tommy, here. You want Harley parts—he’s the man.”

Tommy. His name was Tommy.

Zocco, A.J. and Tommy began an in-depth conversation about drag bars and pipes and forks. She felt the weight of Tommy’s gaze, even though he was talking to the others. When he’d assured Zocco he’d get the parts the biker was looking for, he turned to her. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

He looked her up and down. So, painted on black jeans, black boots and a low-cut red T-shirt weren’t her usual attire, but she knew she looked good.

“I’m Tommy.”

“Sara.”

“Friend of Beck’s?”

She hitched a shoulder. “Sort of. He knows my cousin. I’m in town visiting her.”

“Oh yeah? Where you from?”

“L.A.”

“What’re you doing here?”

She deepened one corner of her mouth into a wry smile. “Just lost my job, so thought I’d come for a visit.”

They studied each other and warmth slipped over her, starting at her chest and working its way up to her face. Good god, was she blushing? She never blushed! His size, his blatant masculinity and radiating sexuality caused every nerve ending in her body to prickle. His shameless male appraisal should have pissed her off, made her feel objectified, but instead her nipples tingled and tightened beneath her thin T-shirt, and her pussy clenched.

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