Silent Comrade (Project Morpheus) Military Romantic Suspense by Jillian David ➱ Book Tour with Rafflecopter
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!
Silent Comrade
Project Morpheus Book 3
by Jillian David
Genre: Military Romantic Suspense
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.
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Hidden Comrade
Project Morpheus Book 2
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.
Pele Tuitama’s Morpheus Squad mission infiltrating a Smoky Mountain children's camp is FUBAR. He might be a virally-enhanced military experiment, but augmented abilities won’t help him protect Reagan McNeill, the most unsecure-able target imaginable. Sweet Reagan’s kisses and the possibility of a future he should never consider, distracts his laser focus. If Pele can’t keep Reagan safe from an evil adversary bent on revenge against the entire McNeill family, then Reagan will die.
After a nasty breakup,
Reagan doesn’t trust any man—or herself. Enter handsome Pele, the
world’s worst camp counselor. She doesn’t believe his story or
his motives. When overly-protective Pele draws her close and then
rejects her, Reagan is finished with games. Then the truth she learns
rips open recently-healed emotional wounds.
In order to
escape through the mountains, Pele must share his deadliest secret.
To have a chance at their future, they must reveal their demons and
pray for acceptance ... and survival.
Fallen Comrade
Project Morpheus Book 1
Ex-Green
Beret Jake Zimmerman’s Georgia mountain seclusion is shattered when
the one woman he should never have left, pregnant Kiera McNeill,
shows up on his doorstep. Her life is in danger, thanks to a botched
Morpheus Squad mission. If the nature of her baby is discovered, evil
forces will stop at nothing to capture Kiera. When Kiera learns of
Jake’s top-secret Morpheus Virus running through his veins, she
realizes that her protector is the deadlier threat.
Kiera
knows the secrets of Fallen Comrades, a billion-dollar “charity”
which siphons donations away from wounded veterans and into the
pockets of power-hungry CFO Beau Lequire. Now her sadistic ex-boss,
Lequire, wants revenge. Her only chance of escape rests in the lethal
hands of the man who once rejected her: Jake. All she needs to do is
suppress her feelings for Jake long enough to destroy Fallen
Comrades, stay alive, and save her baby.
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Fallen Comrades Excerpt
Thanks to his tree-mounted security
cameras that made the system guarding the crown jewels look amateur, it took
less than ten seconds for Jake Zimmerman to identify the vehicle creeping to a
stop in front of his remote Blue Ridge, Georgia, cabin. Silver Hyundai Accent,
five years old, brand-new tires. No registration.
He cocked his head to the side. No whumps of an incoming government helo.
Sparks of adrenaline fired up his
nerves, lasering all of his senses on the intruder.
He ran the pad of his index finger over
the rough grip of the Sig nestled in his shoulder holster. How could anyone
find him? He’d buried his personal intel deeper than a black ops mission file.
With minimal concentration, Jake could
detect the ever-present multitool tucked away in a pocket and ready to go for
any occasion.
He peered at the … occasion … on the
computer screen.
He kept the house lights off. Control,
dammit. Drawing a hand over his face, he took several deep breaths. The
muscles in his neck clenched, refusing to loosen. The damned virus had started
to take over his brain again until his entire world narrowed down to one
mandate: destroy.
No, damn it. He was not this … monster.
Thanks to the top-secret Project
Morpheus he had volunteered for almost two years ago in Special Forces, the
darkness within Jake thrived on the anarchy that was his virally corrupted
soul.
Add in an uninvited visitor, and it
looked like tonight would bring even more fun for one of the U.S. Army’s
best-kept secrets.
Did the person want to rob him? Jake had
no material items of value.
Well, he had a locket with a clip of
smooth auburn hair he should have thrown away long before now. Yeah, he was a
bastard for preserving the keepsake, despite being technically faithful to his
then-wife who did not have auburn hair. Could explain why he was no
longer married.
So. What to do about the person outside
his house?
Wiping his hands on his black cargo
pants, he unholstered the Sig and crept to the front door.
The one person who knew he lived here
was Mateo, and Jake hadn’t seen his Special Forces buddy since Brady McNeill’s
funeral.
Brady’s funeral. And one particularly
fucked-up night. Not in small part because of seeing Brady’s sister, Kiera.
Seen? A bland word for
the silky skin sliding over him and around him during their sweaty, heated
reunion.
Since that night, nothing besides Jake’s
own misery mattered. Not his best friend’s death, not the Morpheus Squad, his
own emotional baggage. Nothing.
Which was exactly what he had now,
wasn’t it? Nothing.
Well, not completely. He had someone
casing his house.
He licked his lips.
The virus crackled through his nerve
endings. Mental processes turned to sludge. As unnatural strength and acuity of
his senses grew, his sanity ebbed.
What a time to skip an antidote dose.
Too late now.
He rolled his shoulders, upper back, and
arms. Each muscle popped as poorly contained rage swept through him, turning
him from Dr. Jekyll into Mr. Hyde.
Sweat broke out on his forehead as the
shaking began.
On second thought, he could use a good
brawl. Stuffing the Sig back in his holster, he flexed his hands. Mr. Hyde
would much rather do this the natural way.
The hunched figure in the baggy jacket
trudged up the gravel driveway, halting gait a little short on one leg. He
couldn’t make out any other details with the hood casting a shadow.
Pressing his back to the wall next to
the front door, he listened. The virus strained like a chained dog tempted by a
wounded rabbit.
Jake became a metal spring, coiled and
ready.
At a knock on the door, he didn’t move.
The spring inside of him tightened. Tick,
tick, tick. His body ratcheted down as tight as he could go.
A tap on the electronic keypad outside. What the hell? The bolt turned and the
door cracked open.
The coil released.
Hidden Comrade Excerpt
“Is relaxing under the stars part of the traditional meal?” Reagan’s face entered his field of vision.
A flash of her body above
him shot a bolt of desire into his groin. The damned virus growled its demand
for action.
He tugged on one of her
braids. “It should be. What about S’mores?”
“They’re traditional
campfire snacks here at Camp Foxfire.”
“Then teach me.”
With a nod, she handed him a
stick. “Okay. You put two marshmallows on and roast them.”
He immediately thrust the
white sugar puffs into the flame and they caught fire. “I don’t think that’s
correct,” he said as the sugar turned to black carbon.
“Actually.” She blew out the
flame. “Some people like the burnt flavor. Try it. Be careful, it’ll be like
molten lava inside.”
He took a bite of the
marshmallow, getting a smoky, thin crust and a hot, gooey sugary center. Not
bad.
“Now, if you want to do it
the expert way, ahem, then you must learn patience. The color you’re going for
is light caramelized brown, which is the most perfect color for a roasted
marshmallow.”
“I’m light caramelized
brown, does that count as perfect?”
A snicker burst from her lips.
“Sure, if paired with melted chocolate.” She clapped her hand over her mouth.
“Oh. Never mind.”
A flash of Reagan licking
chocolate off of his body sent another inappropriate jolt straight to his
throbbing pelvis. Focusing on the task at hand, he followed her lead and kept
the marshmallows well above the heat until they were bubbled and brown.
“Hold our sticks.” She
reached into the other packages. “Next step is turning them into S’mores.” She
sandwiched the steaming marshmallow between a second graham cracker and
chocolate combo and slid the stick out. “Okay, try it.”
He bit down and got a burst
of warm sugar, semi-melted chocolate, and crunchy graham cracker. “This is
really good.”
“I know.” She sat back down
on the tarp. “Simple but fun.” She sighed. He followed the line of her neck as
she swallowed a bite.
“What?” A furrow formed
between her brows.
“You have marshmallow on
your face.”
She swiped at her nose and
cheek. “Got it?”
The tiny piece of white
remained on her lower lip. “Not quite.”
He leaned forward and licked
his lips. She froze.
Gently. He would be careful.
Shoving aside the drive to consume her, mark her, take her, he concentrated on
Reagan’s sweet face instead. “May I?”
“Okay,” she whispered.
He nipped her lower lip and
a tiny shot of sugar combined with the taste of her lips burst on his tongue. Ti’o. Perfection. In a flash, his damned
viral-driven lust infused every cell with a blinding wave of need. He wanted to
possess her, here, under the stars and in front of the fire. Primitive and
perfect.
“Mmm.” He nipped at her soft
lips, tasting, and licking.
Angling his head, he slid
his tongue along the seam of her mouth. His senses were overloaded with wood
smoke, sugar, fresh air, and Reagan’s soft skin.
A faint warning alarm chimed.
Trailing his lips down one
side of her face, he enjoyed the tiny sounds she made. He eased her back onto
the tarp and exposed her smooth neck. With his finger, he traced the jumping
pulse and dropped light kisses until she moaned.
She gripped his bare
forearms. Then Reagan drew him down to meet her lips for a sizzling kiss that
made every muscle in his torso clench.
Bracing his hands next to
her head, he kept his lower body to one side. She’d be less likely to encounter
the hidden knives and guns. Also, ti’o, the minute he got fully on top of
her, all best intentions to take things slowly would fly out the window. As it
was, the need to grind into her shifting hips was becoming a priority. A wave
of desire, amplified by his virus, rushed over him until a buzzing sound
traveled through his chest.
When she slid her hands
under his shirt, he hissed his pleasure but couldn’t risk her finding the Sig.
He eased her hands away and laced his fingers in hers above her head, trying to
sell the move as part of the seduction.
Nudging her mouth open
wider, he swept his tongue deep inside. He ran his hands down her sides and
squeezed her hips through the denim until she whimpered. What would it feel
like to hold on to her bare skin as he drove into her until he lost his mind?
He retained only the barest
sliver of control.
When she lifted her head to
brush her mouth against his, his leg vibrated.
Vibrations.
On his leg. Vibrating.
His leg?
The buzzing continued.
Through the fog of lust, he registered the source and woke up in a hurry, like
cold water thrown on hot stones.
Kefe. The motion detectors had activated.
Cold sweat dried in the heat of the fire.
Now he positioned himself on
all fours, but this time it was to shield her as he cursed the bright fire that
knocked out his night vision.
He scanned the dark woods.
Enemies? Where?
Silent Comrade Excerpt
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. The sound tasted like thick spices and smelled like
desire. Senses coalesced again, tinting his world red. Red needed more. The
virus needed more.
Gentle.
He had to be gentle. Even now, he was losing control of the amount of force he
applied when gripping her upper arms.
“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.
Carefully,
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.
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, 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. The virus wanted release, relief,
completion. It wanted Britt. Now.
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.
Her
lean, smooth thighs disappeared under the skirt. That damned skirt had tempted
Red all night long with what the promise of 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. Little sighs and moans
drifted back to him.
He
wanted to give her pleasure, more than he wanted air.
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.
Her
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.
Award-winning and bestselling author Jillian David quickly writes then slowly edits paranormal, suspense and adventure romances. She loves to use medical situations and characters to drive drama in her books. Her favorite cell is the platelet and her least-favorite organ is the pancreas. She fully believes that curse words, when appropriately deployed during surgery, are hemostatic. Which also explains why no book of hers will ever bleed out...
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This sounds like a great series. I would enjoy reading this. Love the covers.
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