Fabulous author Roxanne St. Claire was kind enough to send us some excerpts before she left to go out of town. AKA she will not respond to this till she returns… I think… who know what the hell she and Kresley Cole are up too. I am still crossing my fingers we get pictures.

Now You Die (The Bullet Catchers, Book 6) by Roxanne St. Claire

TLT: Author’s Pick, Favorite Scene #2:

Former Bullet Catcher and lone wolf investigator Jack Culver is on a mission. Thirty years ago, an innocent woman was convicted of murder. Jack believes he’s found the real killer — but to take down one of the highest legal authorities in the land, he needs access. Serious access. Unfortunately, the one person he knows with that kind of power is his ex-boss and ex-lover, the woman who still haunts his dreams.

Bullet Catchers owner Lucy Sharpe realizes she’s being used for her connections, and she intends to use Jack Culver right back. She’s determined to see justice served, even if that means partnering with the man who once found his way past her iron shields. This time, she’ll be strong enough to avoid Jack’s persuasive touch.

But when passion flares, and they become the killer’s target, Lucy and Jack don’t just break some rules — they shatter them. And that means risking everything: their jobs, their hearts…and their lives.

He rested a hip on the chair he’d been in, looking down at her. “Let’s just discuss this one last time for posterity, Ms. Sharpe. We were on an assignment together. Shit got messy. Someone tried to attack the principal. I shot the assailant to stop him at the minute Dan moved out of formation, a fact he fully acknowledges. My bullet hit his back. I did not, contrary to popular opinion, misfire to take down the competition.”

She stared up at him, silent for a full ten seconds. “He’s not your competition,” she finally whispered.

“He’s half in love with you.” He realized, instantly, what that said about what he considered ‘competition.’

“He is not half in love with me,” Lucy said, but the words sounded hollow.

“You’re right. He’s all the way gone.”

“He’s not. We’re friends. Very, very good friends.” She slammed the bottle on the end table and squared her shoulders to rise. “Frankly, it’s none of your damn business.” She added an icy look. “We’re finished tonight.”

He stood. “You can’t dismiss me.”

She did the same, not quite as eye-to-eye now that she’d lost her heels. “I just did.”

“Too bad, Luce, cause I’m not ready to leave.” He dropped his gaze, purposefully honing in on her low, low neckline. “I still don’t know if you were telling the truth before.”

Her breasts rose and fell with a steady breath, the nipples straining the flimsy silk that held them.

“Not tonight, Jack.”

“No? Why’s that, Luce? Because whatever black and nasty misery sent you calling for relief and assistance last night isn’t bothering you now?”

Her arm twitched, as though she actually considered slapping him. Instead she just raised her chin, and met his gaze with one that was near-black. “I have different problems. Work problems.”

“Oh, I see. So you want Dan.”

“I don’t want anyone.” She sidestepped him, reaching to snag his jacket from the back of a chair. She held it out, hooked on one finger. “All I want is for you to leave.”

He flipped it off her finger and let it fall to the floor. “I’ll leave when I’m ready.”

“Oh, don’t go all alpha on me, Jack.” She walked a few steps away, the dress swishing with the movement.

The dress that had nothing underneath.

“It’s three in the morning. Go to sleep.” She copped a totally professional voice and picked up a piece of paper from the table as if it suddenly interested her.

He slapped it out of her hands, his blood pumping hard again, but not from lust.

“Sleep? I don’t do that much better than you do.” He put his hands on her shoulders and lifted her closer to him. “You want to know why?”

She just looked at him.

“Because I just roll around in that bed, thinking about you, thinking about that night.” He pulled her one inch closer. “I just sweat and ache and remember.”

“Lucky you to have such nice memories to keep you awake.”

“What the fuck does that mean? They aren’t nice for you?”

“Other things keep me awake,” she said.

“Like what?” Like Dan.

She closed her eyes. “Go.”

“Like what, Lucy?”

She wrested one shoulder, then the other, from him grip. “Go to bed. Roll around and remember. That’s all I can offer you tonight.”

He balled his fists, working hard, so damn hard, to keep from yanking her into his mouth and devouring her. “Do you want to know what I remember?”

“The sex, I imagine.”

He let out a soft, quiet laugh, touching her chin with his index finger, staying close enough to see the tiny blue vein in her throat jump when he did.

“What I remember,” he whispered, “is how you cried.”

“That’s enough,” she said, her voice low and rough.

“You cried, and not because you had the fuck of a lifetime. Not because you came six, seven, nine times all over me like thunderclaps.”

“Stop it.” She mouthed the words, and he refused the order.

“You cried from raw, real, heart-wrenching pain. Secret pain. Some damn dark place that you fall into once in a while and have a really hard time climbing out of.”

She paled, silent now.

“You cried because you hurt so bad and the only thing that could keep you from sinking into that abyss…was me.”

“Are you finished yet?”

“I want to make a point.”

“Fine. Make it and leave.”

He leaned closer, inches from her face so he could breathe the words onto her lips. “You don’t want Dan Gallagher when you hurt like that. You want me.”

She lifted her chin, and almost met his lips. “Maybe I did. You want a bottle of booze. We all have our crutches.”

“I don’t want to be a crutch.”

She leveled her gaze, her exotic, tilted eyes so black he could see his own reflected in them. “Too bad. That’s what you were that night.”

The words cracked as hard as if she had lifted her hand and slapped him. He felt…stricken.

“You made your point, Culver.”

“Not yet I didn’t.”

He slid his hands up her arms to her shoulders and pulled her straight into his chest, expecting a fight he didn’t get.

He kissed her fiercely, gripping her into his so completely he could feel every bone and muscle and, God, curve of her body.

She went limp, infuriating him by not responding.

He delved his tongue into her mouth, and she let him, but still didn’t kiss him back. She was stone. Ice. Motionless.

It was worse than a slap. Much, much worse than if she’d squirmed and kicked and screamed for him to stop.

He let go as quickly as he’d started, releasing her, and stepping one inch back. She looked him right in the eyes, her message as clear as if she’d spoken.

“Have you had enough?” she asked, the dull edge in her voice slicing through him.

“Enough?” He slid his hands around her neck, surprised to find it damp with moisture, considering her determination not to feel anything. “Not even close.”

The hook of her halter top snapped in one easy move, and he had it down so fast, she barely had time to gasp. It fell to her waist revealing her firm, sweet, rose-tipped breasts. He could have sworn she arched a little, just to jut those peaks right at him.

“The fact is, Lucy, I could eat you up, swallow you whole, suck the sweat off your skin…”

Her nipples hardened and a slow flush rose on that very skin.

“Then I could tie myself up in this stuff here…” He took two handfuls of hair and dragged his fingers through the silk, grazing the sides of her breasts on the way. “And then I could bury myself all the way inside you until I got good and gone and lost….”

Hands on her hips, he pushed the slippery fabric the rest of the way down her body. He drank in every curve and angle, every shimmery shade of ivory and cream and one skinny strip of sleek ebony pointing straight to the only place in the world he wanted to be.

“And it wouldn’t even be close to enough.”