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J. Rose Black Biography

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“I’m sure everyone’s sorry and said they’re sorry, and you’ve heard it a thousand times. We all mean well, by the way. We just don’t have words.” I rubbed a hand over my forehead. Maybe that was the end of it. A little different than the standard lines. She meant well. Good talk. “It’s fine. Most people just say ‘sorry.’ I don’t need a speech.” “I’m not, though.” Her hair swished against my arm as she shook her head. “It’s sad your mother died. It is. Because of all the things she’ll miss. It’s very sad. But, I’m glad she lived.””

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Book:Chasing Headlines
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“Diabolical. You’re a scoundrel in tasteful athleisure wear.” I grinned and stretched my arms. “Isn’t this jacket cute? I really couldn’t pass it up.” “It’s adorable.” She sipped her tea. “You’re adorable. Cooper should eat you up. But I have two of you that are as stubborn as mules. How is even a certified busybody supposed to Hallmark-ending you two?”

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“So, you’re asking me how long before a couple can break up after having sex?” And I was a tomato. “Yeah.” “So you’ve never broken up with someone after having sex?” I stared at him. And that smug sonofabitch had the nerve to chuckle. My face was on fire and I wanted to slide to the floor. Under the tile. “That’s not . . . it isn’t—” “I can fix that for you. Seems like the least I can do.”

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“Their lips met in a slow, languid kiss. Salt from her tears mixed with her natural sweetness. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed closer. Her softness, her scent, she filled and overran his senses. He mouthed another kiss against her lips. Heat flared inside his abdomen when she opened her mouth, and kissed him back with firmer lips. He sank into her embrace, the heated connection she offered. A kinetic warmth surged through him, lighting, igniting dormant pieces inside—like someone returning home . . . A soft groan, hushed breaths. Their mouths parted and found each other again. He slid his hand behind her neck as he deepened the kiss.”

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Book:Losing My Breath
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“Callan sucked in a breath. As a sniper, he’d been trained by the Marines to know and recognize moments. Moments when all the training—his focused mind, muscle memory, weapon knowledge . . . When all the preparation—target reconnaissance, angle of attack, position scouting . . . When all the setup—hidden amid the terrain, barrel aimed, trajectory known . . . When everything came together in one crucial moment—when the sniper squeezed the trigger and took his shot.”

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Book:Losing My Breath
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“He grimaced and went after her. “I’m not a trainer. Just spent a lot of time working out.” “Misspent youth, clearly.” She held the door open, standing just outside. “My application to princess school was rejected.” Callan exited the building and fell into step alongside her. “Working out was how I coped.” Sunlight peeked out from behind striped clouds and lit the early-morning sky. Autumn weather chilled the perspiration on his skin. “Such a shame.” Meridian glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye. “What is?” “That you didn’t go to princess school. Could have learned some manners.” Her blue-green eyes sparked in the sunlight. And her mouth . . . Her lips set in some smart-looking, lopsided grin, with a small dimple. I should definitely kiss that look off her face. “Overrated. Inefficient. And I look terrible in a tiara.”

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Book:Losing My Breath
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“But this is my fucking life! My mom died and some reporter wanted a story.” I heaved for air. “And all I cared about was playing in some game. Like that was what mattered. She was dying, and I was mad. I’m still fucking pissed. Criminals survive every day. Murderers and rapists and lunatics. But not her.” “Life, in all the years I’ve been living it, son, doesn’t make a lick of sense where that’s concerned.”

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Book:Chasing Headlines
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