(Corwint Central Agent Files #3)
by C.E. KILGORE
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The Blurb:
Tara Flint has never denied her heart's attraction to the floppy-haired, brown-eyed Hankarron, even if he can be a stupid limik sometimes. Her strong will falters as she is forced to decide between a promise she made to her father, a boy she has loved since she had pigtails and the possibility of finding out what her life might be like without the presence of Hankarron always by her side.
When you get knocked down, you get back up and hit the other guy harder. Trip 'Wild Fists' Weston is a Runata'ji combat fighter at the top of his career with a fame and fortune he doesn't want and a Lucky Clover tattooed across his heart to remind him of the girl who is always just out of reach. When Tara's luck lands her in his lap without Hankarron on her heels, Trip wonders if this is his chance to capture his Clover, or if Tara's luck has other ideas in mind. Fate doesn't always give you want you want, but it will always give you what you need.
Jennadri Szina doesn't have time for matters of the heart or trying to get two wayward agents back on track. She's got a mission to run, a Director who is dying and a mother who isn't easy to impress. When Jehdra sends her to save Hank and Tara, Jen takes her mother's mission on at full speed, but she isn't prepared to manage 'Wild Fists' Weston and his damn dimple.
They say that the stories of our time will one day be traced into the stars to help guide others home. Fate strings intertwine with skipping stones across the stars of the universe, pulling it forward and writing new lines in the night sky as the Corwint Central Agent saga continues to lead Ethan, Orynn and Jarren towards a collision that holds the power to change everything.
Excerpt:
In this excerpt, Jennadri and Trip try to expel some anxious
energy surrounding the dangerous mission they are on.
“Tell you what,” Jen picked the remote off the bed and
flicked the view-screen off, tossing the remote onto the floor in front of the
entertainment console. “How bout we just go to bed.”
His mouth went dry as he considered the inferred meaning
from the tone of her question and the playful smirk on her lips. “Yeah, sure.”
Despite believing he understood the meaning, his feet stayed
anchored in place as Jen shut the desk lamp off, walked up one side of the bed
and trailed her fingers over the grey posh comforter. She downturned the
sheets, beat a fist into one of the overly stuffed pillows and tapped the
console on the nightstand. The ceiling perimeter lighting dimmed into a soft
moon-glow and she unhooked her belt, dropping it to the floor. The heat rose up
Trip’s neck and straight into his head as the blood in his body switched
directions, his gaze unable to look away as she peeled herself out of her
tight, dark blue skirt, leaving her in the black tank top, a pair of blue
panties and a holstered gun nestled against her inner thigh. It was the sexiest
damn thing he had ever laid eyes on.
Removing the holster and slipping into the covers, she
looked across the bed at him with a smirking raise of a burning-red eyebrow.
“Do you sleep standing up, peach?”
Trip shook away the nerves and set his feet into motion,
slipping off his boots and padding barefoot up to the bed. “Maybe. Maybe I
should be concerned that you keep referring to me as a piece of fruit.”
“Awe, no insult intended, and I don’t bite. Well,” Jen let the
thought trail off and finished her beer, setting the empty bottle down on the
nightstand. She pulled down the covers on the other side of the bed and patted
the spot next to her. “C’mon, Trip, I swear I won’t paw you.”
“Isn’t that normally the guy’s line?” With a deep inhale, he
tugged his shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor. His fingers paused
as they got to the button of his jeans.
She took in his tattoos with an appreciative smile,
following the lines that ran over his ribcage, across his waist and disappeared
into the jeans that were already seated tempting low on his hips. Her tongue
flicked over her bottom lip as his fingers unbuttoned and unzipped the denim,
the green cloth of his boxers coming into view and doing a poor job at hiding
the evidence of his arousal. The jeans lowered to the floor, but again he
stopped and remained standing at the edge of the bed, staring at her. The
muscles of his chest twitched and she realized how uncomfortable she was making
him.
She slid under the covers and turned her back to him, laying
her head down on the pillow. “Look, Trip, I’m sorry if I’m making you nervous.
I’m only half-Hedarion, but it’s the loud, controlling, and somewhat obnoxious
half. I promise to keep it in check.”
He knew immediately what she was referring to and that he
hadn’t incorrectly understood her invitation. The Hedari were a race that
expressed passionate fire in everything they did, from Runata’ji to sex. Their culture was about living for the moment, in
the moment, and living with hajva’ji.
No regrets, no strings, just the moment. It was a culture he greatly respected
and tried to reflect in the way he lived his own life. And, damn, she was so
beautiful.
Jen felt the mattress dip across the wide gap that the
enormous king sized bed allowed. There was a tugging on the sheets and
comforter, and she found herself exposed and the fabric was pulled off her
body. With a growl, she grabbed the edge and tugged back, holding tightly as
Trip began pulling again. A giggle erupted as he yanked hard, causing her to
roll over and face him, his bare chest the only thing that stopped her motion.
Her palms lay flat against the warm skin and she sucked in a breath, suddenly
afraid to look up at his face and worried she would see anything but a
reflection of the want she was feeling.
Her small frame fit so snuggly against his chest that he had
to admit it was almost perfect. The tips of his fingers trailed up the skin of
her exposed thigh, stuttering over the edges of her panties. It was impossible
to ignore the desire swelling at having a fiery, beautiful woman nestled into
him. A grating voice in the back of his head tried to reason with him that he
was about to cross a line, too soon and for the wrong reasons, but it was
quickly losing out to the loud pumping blood that filled his ears. “Jen, you
sure you want this?”
“Hajva’ji, Trip. We’re both tense, even after a damn
good meal and all that beer, and we both have a big day tomorrow.” She offered
him the logical reasons first, hoping to ease the nerves she was now feeling by
distancing it from any kind of emotions she may be forming for him. “We could
both use a release, and I know I’m going to have trouble getting to sleep with
you so close.”
Her words made sense in his head. Well, both heads if he was
being honest with himself, and he really could use a release from the crazy day
it had been. He was starting to like her, though. Really like her. Could they handle keeping it purely physical
without it screwing up a great, budding friendship in the morning? Hajva’ji.
His hand moved up her ribcage and under her tank top. There
was no certainty what would come in the morning, but he had a captivating
redhead with a clever wit in his arms who was ready and willing. “I’d make it
hard for you to sleep, hu?”
Her lips parted in a smile as the mood between them shifted
from nervous to playful. “Well you are
‘Wild Fists’ Weston.”
“Ah, a fan!”
She poked his ribs as he chuckled, his hand slipping under
the back of her bra. “Of course I’m a fan. Have you seen you fight?”
The practiced movement of his fingers unclasped her bra.
“I’m usually paying more attention to the other guy.”
“Oh?” Jen sank her hand beneath the waistline of his boxers
and was rewarded by Trip’s sharp intake of breath and a swallowed moan. Light
feathering touches of her fingertips stroked the fire between them and he
hardened in her palm. “Seems you aren’t paying attention to the advances of
your opponent this time.”
Trip flinched and stifled another moan as her fingers teased
and stroked. Hot fucking damn. “Yeah,
well, she fights dirty.”
“Peach,” Jen raised up on her knees and tore off her
tank-top and bra, tossing them behind her. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
“I disagree.” The words barely made it out of his throat as
her rounded breasts, tipped in dark, taught nipples, came into view. Her hair
shimmered in the dim lighting, creating an ethereal vision of the goddess Tra’ja herself, all desire and cunning
and passion, the idyllic representation of everything that it was to be a woman
of Hedari. All caution and bets were off
as his gaze fell to the grey-blue panties between her spread thighs. Lifting
his gaze back up to her matching irises, he knew there was nothing that could
stop them in that moment, even the honest emotions he let creep into his voice.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Frai’taji.”
A warm arc of electricity spiraled up her spine at the sound
of her native Hedarion language on his lips. His earlier nickname of simply Red had evolved into Frai’taji, beautiful fire. She had to
admit that she liked it. A lot.
Her hands pushed against his broad shoulder and he gave no
resistance as he fell back against the mattress. There was trust in his blue
eyes and unmasked want. Her lips trailed kisses down the rock-hard muscles of
his abdomen as they flexed and quivered at her touch. Her fingers scouted the
path further down under the waistline of his boxers and over the other
unmistakable sign of his desire for her.
Curling her fingers into the fabric, she lifted and tugged
his boxers over the jutting shaft of his erection, keeping her eyes intensely
focused on his unwavering stare as she guided the fabric down his legs and off
his feet. He was devouring her with his eyes and it was pooling a wet heat
between her legs. Instead of grabbing at her or forcing the lead like she had
expected, he was giving her control and letting her set the pace. He didn’t
even need to touch her to stir the tingling ache growing within her, and that
frightened her for a brief moment, then her eyes darted to the pillar of his
erection and all fear was lost to the simple want to feel him moving inside
her.
Trip fisted the sheets as Jen’s eyes continued to pin him
against the mattress, and when the tip of her tongue traced up the underside of
his cock, he saw stars. Real fucking stars. He’d never seen stars before, even
after a night of what he believed had been incredible sex. Incredible sex with
some meaningless one-night fangirl who only wanted him for his fame and
fortune. Incredibly meaningless sex.
This was so different. This was… Oh,
shit.
Jen paused with her tongue teasing the tip of his erection
as a tremor of unreadable emotion flashed over his eyes and he opened his mouth
to say something. Maybe he thought this was a bad idea, after all. He wasn’t
Hedarion, despite being involved with their culture. Or maybe he was afraid one
of her eyes would pop out in the middle of fucking. That last, self-inflicted
dose of bitterness almost choked her. She knew Trip wasn’t like that. He
wouldn’t hurt her like that, would he? “You still with me, peach?”
Was he? Trip took a deep breath to think it over. He had a
gorgeous, intelligent and willing woman licking his cock and asking if he
wanted to continue. A small burn etched across the skin of his chest, reminding
him of the hurt he had already suffered that morning. That had been his own
fault caused by his expectations for something, deep down, he knew was never
going to happen. Expectations that had compounded into some sort of fantasy
about an unattainable woman to give him something to reach for while he kept
all the fangirls at arm’s length.
He exhaled and stared down at Jen as understanding dawned on
him. Her eyes echoed his cautious want and there was the subtle hint of
something more. She was no flirtatious fangirl. She wasn’t Tara. She was so
much more than both, but he wasn’t going to place any expectations on her
shoulders. Not this time. Hajva’ji.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR C.E. KILGORE:
C.E. Kilgore (1981 - ) has always had a love of romantic stories and science fiction. Although active in the writing community during her undergraduate studies, she chose to focus on her love of history and culture. Graduating with an HBA in History and a BA in Cultural Anthropology, she puts a deep emphasis on creating characters and environments within her writing that are full of both culture and history. The relationship development between characters and the worlds they live in is also an important aspect of her stories. Sarcasm, comedy, hidden "modern" references and subtle hints at underlined universal meanings are common within her writing style, but there is always plenty of action and a darker side lurking just around the corner.
STALK C.E. KILGORE ON SOCIAL MEDIA:
. My version is set on an inhospitable
moon, rather than the African Jungle, but in both tales the hero and heroine
battle nature and, ultimately, the invading enemy.
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