Crash Into Me a Rouge Romantic S

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9780091948801: Crash Into Me a Rouge Romantic S

Though he's gone into virtual seclusion, Ben Fortune is still the world's most famous surfer, known as much for his good looks as for his skill. He's also a suspect in a series of brutal murders that may have begun with his late wife. Now FBI Special Agent Sonora "Sonny" Vasquez has been sent undercover to the elite beach community of La Jolla to make friends with Fortune. With her fierce beauty and take-no-prisoners attitude, she's more than equipped for the job, and soon she and Ben have collided in an affair that is both intense and irresistible. But for the first time in Sonny's career, her emotions are threatening to get the better of her. Could this passionate, wounded man, who is genuinely anguished over his troubled daughter, really be a killer? And could falling in love blind Sonny to the greatest danger of all? Rouge Romance - your first stop for romance books

"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.

About the Author:

Jill Sorenson's family moved from a small town in Kansas to a suburb of San Diego when she was twelve. In the past twenty years, she hasn't lost her appreciation for sunny weather, her fascination with the Pacific Ocean, or her love for Southern California culture. She still lives in San Diego with her husband, Chris, and their two small children, and is happily working on her next novel. She is the author of Crash into Me, Set the Dark on Fire and The Edge of Night, all available from Rouge.

Excerpt. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

Chapter One


FBI Training Center. Quantico, Virginia.

Special Agent Colby Mitchell was about to drop Special Agent Sonny Vasquez.

He pivoted, leading with his right elbow, intent on driving it home and ending a sparring match that had gone on far too long.

Vasquez was a legend, a chimera, a fantastical figure the cadets had heard about but seldom seen, so their attention was rapt. Then again, they probably would have enjoyed watching anyone get the better of Mitchell, who ran a grueling two-week training session. Although most of the trainees were in good shape, they valued the cerebral over the physical, and called Mitchell a meathead behind his well-muscled back.

Legend or no, Vasquez was the underdog, or had been before this impromptu demonstration started. Despite the considerable differences between them in height and weight, which should have tipped the scales in Mitchell's favor, he was the one dripping sweat and grunting with exertion, while Vasquez remained as cool and elusive as a goddamned ghost.

Mitchell added the energy of desperation to his blow. He did not want to lose to this particular opponent. His colleagues would never let him live it down, and Vasquez, too superior to gloat, would merely study him calmly, assessing his weaknesses, making it apparent to all that he wasn't up to snuff.

So he said a mental prayer as he swung his arm around, visualizing success, anticipating the winning impact of his triceps against Vasquez's smooth, perfectly shaped jaw.

But as his powerful body turned, he knew he'd miscalculated. Vasquez was a ghost, and Mitchell's prayer went unanswered. Instead of being in position to receive the blow, Vasquez had ducked under and down. In leading with his elbow, Mitchell made another fatal mistake: leaving open the vulnerable expanse between his armpit and waist.

Of course, Vasquez struck with the swiftness and ferocity of a mythical creature. The jabs to Mitchell's side were startlingly painful—how Vasquez wrung that amount of strength from those scrawny arms was an elliptical mystery.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Mitchell dropped his arm to protect his burning midsection, focusing only on preventing Vasquez's bladelike fists from striking into his sore ribs. Then he saw a premonition of his own defeat in those strange, light eyes, and Mitchell didn't have time to blink before Vasquez dropped him, with a blow to the temple so well placed it was almost a caress.

An excruciating, debilitating caress.

From the ground, Mitchell looked up at his nemesis in wonder, fighting nausea and gasping for breath, his eyes stinging with sweat and tears. The circle around them clapped and cheered, oblivious to his torture, or perhaps excited by it.

Bloodthirsty little guppies.

Vasquez's head gave a slight shake, indicating to the group that celebration was unnecessary. Mitchell groaned, letting his head fall back against the mat while Vasquez made a sanctimonious little speech about never underestimating a smaller opponent. After the crowd dispersed, Mitchell focused his eyes long enough to see Vasquez standing over him, neither smiling nor smug, offering a hand to help him to his feet.

At the sight of that hand, so slender and deceptively innocuous-looking, the same that had dealt his ego, not to mention his temple, a crushing blow, Mitchell snapped. He took the proffered hand and yanked on it, bringing the victor down to his level, and in a split second, Sonora Vasquez was on her back, with Colby Mitchell on top of her.

"How'd that sex change operation go, Vasquez?"

He grinned as beads of sweat from his forehead fell on her face. She needed to be reminded she was a woman, and if he wasn't man enough to do it on the mat, he was more than willing to have a go at her on the mattress.

More amused than insulted, Vasquez wiped away the offending drops of sweat like she was swatting at flies. "It's called sexual reassignment surgery, Mitchell. Don't they teach you anything in sensitivity training?"

"Yeah. I'm feeling real sensitive right now." He was aware of her breasts crushed against his chest and the soft apex of her thighs, an inviting warmth beneath him. She might not fight like a woman, but she felt like one, and although he willed his body not to, it began to respond to hers. He was enjoying dominating her a little too much. Still, he feared for his manhood. Vasquez would go ballistic if he got hard.

But she didn't go ballistic—she laughed. "The doctor said if I wanted to live my life as a man, I'd have to be happy with three inches, so I told him to forget it. I couldn't bear to look like you."
Mitchell grunted. "Keep wiggling, Vasquez. Those three inches will turn into six."

For a moment, she looked startled, as if she'd only just realized he'd been flirting with her. Before she could shield the reaction, her unusual eyes betrayed her panic, and Mitchell experienced an intense surge of satisfaction. Vasquez couldn't dislodge him, because she sucked at wrestling, and now he'd found her secret vulnerability: she was afraid of men. The vindictive side of him wanted to press her further, but he rolled away, because he was a meathead, not a jerk, and the last thing he needed was a sexual harassment charge.

"You're such a Neanderthal, Mitchell," she said, recovering.

"Ooga booga," he replied with a smile. "Want to go back to my cave?"

"No," she said, using the serious tone women affected when scolding a child, making it embarrassingly clear that she did not encourage his advances.

He shrugged, feeling amiable. Vasquez may have beaten him in front of everyone, but now he had her number. Good agents knew that most warfare was psychological, and Colby Mitchell was a very good agent. He was also smart enough to do damage control, and sensitive enough to treat Vasquez with respect, albeit belatedly.

"I was just fooling around," he said. "No hard feelings?"

The tension in her face faded. "Whatever, Mitchell." She brushed invisible lint from her jogging pants. "Next time you want to rub your wiener on someone, ask Stacy."

"Really?" Like most young, single males on the prowl, his attention was easily diverted. Vasquez was hot, but Stacy League was . . . built. His eyes roved over Special Agent League's very pleasing form as she sparred with another female trainee. She wasn't half as good on the mat as Vasquez, but who wanted an assassin in the sack? "She likes me?"

"You didn't hear it from me," she said, pulling herself to her feet. This time, he let her help him up.

"Thanks for the tip, cutie." He knocked her lightly on the chin.

She wrinkled her nose. "Don't push it."

"Do you want to know who likes you?" He scanned the room for a man who wasn't more afraid of her than attracted to her.

"No."

"Why not?" He smirked. "Oh, I get it." He took her by the shoulders and turned her toward the openly gay female cadet Stacy was sparring with. "Is she more your style?"

"You wish," she said, shrugging away from him. "Do I need to kick your ass twice?"

"Yeah. Show me how to do that temple thing."

She shook her head. "You're too strong to use it for immobilization. You can only do it with lethal intent."

He rubbed his hands together. "Goody."

Sonny took a deep breath before she entered Grant's office.

Although the summons ordered her to come right away, she'd taken the time to shower and make herself presentable. Contrary to popular belief, Sonora Vasquez was a woman, and sometimes she liked to look like one.

She knew her appearance added to her formidable reputation, so she usually didn't bother to accentuate her femininity. Her features were too strong to be called pretty, her eyes too fierce to put a man at ease, her mouth more appropriate for biting than kissing. For a _blue-_eyed blonde, her complexion was dark, giving her the unusual appearance of a dusky waif or a washed-out gypsy, and her hair was an unremarkable champagne motley. It was thick and unruly, so she kept it cropped short, which pleased her, not any man she'd ever met.

She'd always been a tomboy—by chance, if not choice, having been forced to wear her brother's hand-me-downs throughout childhood. She still couldn't afford designer clothes, expensive makeup, or sexy shoes, but she worked well with what she had: good bone structure, great instincts, and a killer bod.

The pride she took in her figure was mostly professional. She was a lean, mean, fighting machine, and few men wanted to tangle with her, in or out of the bedroom.

Special Agent in Charge Leland Grant was the only man, besides her brother, she'd ever trusted enough to get close to, but there were no sparks between them. Perhaps because he was happily married, and old enough to be the father she'd never had.

She knocked on the frosted glass office door before she entered, just to be polite, knowing he could see her more clearly than she him. Grant was on the phone, raising a "just another minute" finger in her direction, a gesture that had been annoying people for decades and didn't fail to elicit the same reaction in her.

Sonny slumped into a chair across from his desk, going for a posture somewhere between apathetic and insolent.

His lips curved as he watched her, and she knew she'd succeeded only in amusing him, so she let out the breath she was holding and sat up straight. This was her boss, not her best friend, and it would behoove her to act that way.

"Going somewhere?" he asked as he replaced the receiver.

She looked down at the slim-fitting jeans, high-heeled half boots, and snug sweater she was wearing. Why did everyone have to comment when she wa...

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Book Description Ebury Publishing, United Kingdom, 2012. Paperback. Book Condition: New. Language: English . Brand New Book. Though he s gone into virtual seclusion, Ben Fortune is still the world s most famous surfer, known as much for his good looks as for his skill. He s also a suspect in a series of brutal murders that may have begun with his late wife. Now FBI Special Agent Sonora Sonny Vasquez has been sent undercover to the elite beach community of La Jolla to make friends with Fortune. With her fierce beauty and take-no-prisoners attitude, she s more than equipped for the job, and soon she and Ben have collided in an affair that is both intense and irresistible. But for the first time in Sonny s career, her emotions are threatening to get the better of her. Could this passionate, wounded man, who is genuinely anguished over his troubled daughter, really be a killer? And could falling in love blind Sonny to the greatest danger of all? Rouge Romance - your first stop for romance books. Bookseller Inventory # AB99780091948801

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Book Description Ebury Publishing, United Kingdom, 2012. Paperback. Book Condition: New. Language: English . Brand New Book. Though he s gone into virtual seclusion, Ben Fortune is still the world s most famous surfer, known as much for his good looks as for his skill. He s also a suspect in a series of brutal murders that may have begun with his late wife. Now FBI Special Agent Sonora Sonny Vasquez has been sent undercover to the elite beach community of La Jolla to make friends with Fortune. With her fierce beauty and take-no-prisoners attitude, she s more than equipped for the job, and soon she and Ben have collided in an affair that is both intense and irresistible. But for the first time in Sonny s career, her emotions are threatening to get the better of her. Could this passionate, wounded man, who is genuinely anguished over his troubled daughter, really be a killer? And could falling in love blind Sonny to the greatest danger of all? Rouge Romance - your first stop for romance books. Bookseller Inventory # AB99780091948801

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Book Description Ebury Press (Fiction). Book Condition: New. Though he's gone into virtual seclusion, Ben Fortune is still the world's most famous surfer, known as much for his good looks as for his skill. He's also a suspect in a series of brutal murders that may have begun with his late wife. Num Pages: 480 pages. BIC Classification: FR. Category: (G) General (US: Trade). Dimension: 114 x 177 x 30. Weight in Grams: 262. . 2011. Paperback. . . . . Books ship from the US and Ireland. Bookseller Inventory # V9780091948801

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