
Part of Series
He’s in no mood to play nice… Mace Trask is setting a trap for the bastard who just tried to kill both his brothers, and he can’t wait to spring it. Then a sexy, mysterious woman shows up and starts wandering around GodsAcre, the remote property in the mountains that he’s wired to blow, putting Mace’s plan in jeopardy and herself in deadly danger. There’s only one thing to do—so Mace whisks her away to his cabin in the woods, determined to find out what this fiery beauty wants, and knows… Her beauty inflames him… Cait Lamott is terrified when the huge guy with buzzed off hair and ice-blue eyes drags her off into a remote cabin in the woods. She’s on a mission to find her father, a virologist who disappeared fourteen years ago, and nobody is going to stop her. Certainly not this suspicious, muscle-bound, infuriating, fascinating man. Not even her body’s traitorous reaction to him. But as they work together to uncover the terrifying truth, they start to crave each other’s touch. Mace’s armor is no defense against Cait. Her sweet passion burns him, her courage inspires him, and her razor-sharp mind might just be what it takes to keep them both alive. Because their enemy is closing in fast—and the stakes are higher than they can imagine…
Author

Also wrote five category romances under the penname Shannon Anderson ::From The Author's Website:: HOW IT ALL BEGAN I started writing my first romance novel in secret. I was working a temp job in an insurance office in Manhattan at the time, and the office manager had made it clear that even if there was nothing to do, I still had to look busy—never one of my big talents. I felt bad about the wasted time, though, and I needed something to round out my other chosen career, which was singing. Yeah, that's right. Most artists choose a more practical Plan B to back up their improbable Plan A. Me? No way. "Long Shot" is my middle name. So I sneakily set up a Document 1 and a Document 2 with a spreadsheet on it. If my Boss du Jour walked by I could quick-like-a-bunny switch screens, and whenever the coast was clear, I went back to my story. Not that I was slacking, mind you. If there was work to be done, I did it. The sneakiness felt familiar, though, because I've been teased about reading romances since I was a kid. I think the day I finally grew up was the day I stopped trying to cover up what I was reading on the bus, train or subway. Let people think whatever they like. It wasn't until I moved to Italy (details of that Long Shot provided later on) that I got serious about writing, though. I found myself with many long, quiet days alone with nothing to do, so I slogged my way bravely to the end of the manuscript and sent it out. Everybody rejected it-except for Kensington. I wrote for them for a few years, and then made a bid for an erotic novella for the new Brava imprint, and oh joy, they accepted it. Then I wrote BEHIND CLOSED DOORS. And so on, and so forth. That's how I started. I can't think of anything I'd rather do. I never knew it would be so scary, and so hard . . . all that solitude and silence, a blank computer screen, and no one to blame. But still. It's worth it. It's great.