The Tremaine Tradition
Silhouette Intimate Moments
She couldn't refuse him....
Sam Tremaine could charm the thorns off roses, and Juliette Morrow both
wanted and hated him. The CIA agent had learned her secret identity--and
used it to gain her help to catch an international criminal. Even worse, she was falling for this man of honor who had every reason to despise her.
He'd thought her a liar and a heartbreaker. But in Juliette, Sam discovered a woman whose loyalty and warmth shook him to the core. Hiding his growing feelings would take every covert skill he possessed, but Juliette's future depended on her never learning she'd stolen his heart....
Finalist in the Golden Quill Contest
Finalist in the Write Touch: Readers Award contest
Finalist for the Romance Writers of America Rita Award, Long Contemporary
Winner of the Daphne du Maurier Award, series category
Winner of the overall contest for the Daphne du Maurier Award of Excellence
Romantic Times magazine Reviewer’s Choice nominee
Romantic Times magazine Top Pick
Read an Excerpt
"Looking for this?"
That dreaded voice came again, unbearably smug. Unbearably amused. Whirling, the black clad figure faced the man, similarly dressed, who was already nearer than expected. The cable... that precious symbol of escape, was looped around his wrist.
With his free hand, the man reached up, swept the black watch cap off his head. The moonlight painted his hair golden. And his eyes, those damned wicked green eyes, gleamed. "We meet again, little thief." Carelessly he stuck the cap in his back pocket and approached. A slow, single-minded stalking that was meant to hypnotize or to panic. The figure did neither.
"Weren't expecting company down there, huh?" Sam's voice was conversational. "I'm not surprised. You work alone, right? And you don't make mistakes often." He'd halved the distance between them with deliberate steps. Anticipation grew, was barely reined in. "The only one you made this time was in underestimating me."
Behind the mask, the figure smiled, a grim stretch of the lips. There had been an underestimation, all right. But Sam Tremaine was the one who'd made it.
He took a step closer. Another. And then he smiled. Slow and wide and devastating. "Whatever you're thinking, forget it. We're partners now. In case you haven't noticed, your options have just decreased dramatically." He stretched one gloved hand across the distance spanning them.
In a blur of motion a kick was aimed at his weakened thigh, a solid blow landed. Sam's leg buckled and he cursed, but he didn't go down completely, and he didn't loosen his grasp on the cable. The figure ran several feet past him, then turned and sprinted by him again, flying through the air even as his shout sounded. "Dammit, no!"
There was a moment of euphoria, as air whipped by, then a second of fear as the roof of the next building failed to materialize as rapidly as anticipated. Arms were stretched out, fingers flexed. When contact was made, the figure scrabbled wildly, grasping for purchase, and settled on the narrow ledge edging the rooftop. It took every ounce of energy to pull up, to throw first one leg over the ledge, and then the other. Once safely on the roof, a lightning pace was set toward the other side. There was a fire escape fairly close beneath. From there, it was just a matter of...
It was like being hit from behind by a Mack truck. The figure went down hard, rolled, a huge weight attached. Vision was blurred by a dizzying array of stars. Lungs squeezed of oxygen. Helplessly, the figure lay there, trapped beneath Sam Tremaine's hard body, capable only of the fight for breath.
He recovered first. "Sonofbitch." His voice was grim. "You damned near killed us both."
Air resupplied oxygen, and with it came logic. One leg was drawn up sharply, but he shifted, removing its intended target from range. "I'd just as soon you didn't finish me off right yet. I've got plans for you, little thief. But before I get into them..." He reached up, pushed the black hood slowly up to reveal features that would be all too familiar to him.
"Juliette." His gaze raked her form. "Your getup gives a whole new meaning to basic black."
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