Series: Uncompromising #5
Publication date: March 28th, 2018
Synopsis (according to Goodreads):
Callan
I was trained to be a hunter. Growing up in the nation's most infamous, violent cult, my job was simple. Track. Kill. Survive.
And that's what I did... until our leader threatened to kill his own daughter.
Refusing to watch another senseless murder, I did what I was trained to do. I took his life, claimed his land, and set every member free, including her. I only had one goal left. Find the sister I was told was dead.
But being a hunter in the woods is a far cry from tracking a woman in Miami Beach.
I didn't find my sister.
I found someone else.
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Excerpt
"You should go, Callan." I bit my lip, wanting to take the words back.
Quick, precise, his hand shot out, and with a gentleness I wasn't prepared for, his thumb stroked across my bottom lip. "You bite when you are nervous."
My heart raced, and my lip tingled. Wanting to reach for him, I forced myself to stand perfectly still. "You don't know me enough to know when I'm nervous."
"Your body language does not lie." He stroked my lip again. "The pain, when your teeth bite your lip, do you enjoy it?"
Uncomfortable heat hit my cheeks. "What are you doing?" The strangled whisper rushed past the very spot he was caressing.
"Touching you." His thumb coasted across my jaw and his fingers landed on my pulse point in my neck. "Have you ever been with a man?"
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
I swallowed past the embarrassment and kept perfectly still. "I didn't give you permission to touch me."
For a split second, something crossed his features. Then his impenetrable, intense mask returned. "I do not need permission to touch you."
Blessed righteousness overtook my traitorous hormones. "Ah, yeah, you do. This isn't the dark ages, and you aren't a caveman." His upbringing may have been primitive, but he didn't look a thing like a Neanderthal.
Faster than I could blink, his hand caught the side of my neck and his fingers captured a thick lock of my hair. "I have already touched you, many times. You made no protest. Are you making one now?"
My core pulsed and a wave of heat washed over my body. For ten whole seconds, I let myself relish in the blazing sensations of his hold on me. Dominant, assured, confident, he held me like he knew how to hold a woman. But more, he held me like he knew every secret desire I'd ever had. Chastising myself and my dirty thoughts, I pushed at his hand.
He held firm. "Use words."
The sheer dominance in his voice made my eyes flutter shut. "Oh God, I want to. I need to." But I didn't. I stopped there, leaving the decision on his shoulders.
He lowered his voice and slowly wrapped my long hair around his hand. "That was not an answer. Do you want me to stop?"
My legs quivering, my core pulsing, I didn't answer. I couldn't.
"Open your eyes, angel."
The sound of his voice, the term of endearment, I wanted to weep. Honest to God, weap. "I'm afraid of you," I whispered the truth.
Quick, precise, his hand shot out, and with a gentleness I wasn't prepared for, his thumb stroked across my bottom lip. "You bite when you are nervous."
My heart raced, and my lip tingled. Wanting to reach for him, I forced myself to stand perfectly still. "You don't know me enough to know when I'm nervous."
"Your body language does not lie." He stroked my lip again. "The pain, when your teeth bite your lip, do you enjoy it?"
Uncomfortable heat hit my cheeks. "What are you doing?" The strangled whisper rushed past the very spot he was caressing.
"Touching you." His thumb coasted across my jaw and his fingers landed on my pulse point in my neck. "Have you ever been with a man?"
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
I swallowed past the embarrassment and kept perfectly still. "I didn't give you permission to touch me."
For a split second, something crossed his features. Then his impenetrable, intense mask returned. "I do not need permission to touch you."
Blessed righteousness overtook my traitorous hormones. "Ah, yeah, you do. This isn't the dark ages, and you aren't a caveman." His upbringing may have been primitive, but he didn't look a thing like a Neanderthal.
Faster than I could blink, his hand caught the side of my neck and his fingers captured a thick lock of my hair. "I have already touched you, many times. You made no protest. Are you making one now?"
My core pulsed and a wave of heat washed over my body. For ten whole seconds, I let myself relish in the blazing sensations of his hold on me. Dominant, assured, confident, he held me like he knew how to hold a woman. But more, he held me like he knew every secret desire I'd ever had. Chastising myself and my dirty thoughts, I pushed at his hand.
He held firm. "Use words."
The sheer dominance in his voice made my eyes flutter shut. "Oh God, I want to. I need to." But I didn't. I stopped there, leaving the decision on his shoulders.
He lowered his voice and slowly wrapped my long hair around his hand. "That was not an answer. Do you want me to stop?"
My legs quivering, my core pulsing, I didn't answer. I couldn't.
"Open your eyes, angel."
The sound of his voice, the term of endearment, I wanted to weep. Honest to God, weap. "I'm afraid of you," I whispered the truth.
Sybil Bartel grew up in Northern California with her head in a book and her feet in the sand. She dreamt of becoming a painter but the heady scent of libraries with their shelves full of books drew her into the world of storytelling. She loves the New Adult genre, but any story about a love so desperately wrong and impossibly beautiful makes her swoon.
Sybil now resides in Southern Florida and while she doesn't get to read as much as she likes, she still buries her toes in the sand. If she isn't writing or fighting to contain the banana plantation in her backyard, you can find her spending time with her handsomely tattooed husband, her brilliantly practical son and a mischievous miniature boxer...
But Seriously?
Here are ten things you probably really want to know about Sybil.
She grew up a faculty brat. She can swear like a sailor. She loves men in uniform. She hates being told what to do. She can do your taxes (but don't ask). The Bird Market in Hong Kong freaks her out. Her favorite word is desperate... or dirty, or both--she can't decide. She has a thing for muscle cars. But never rely on her for driving directions, ever. And she has a new book boyfriend every week--don't tell her husband.
To find out more about Sybil Bartel, be sure to follow her on Twitter (she loves to hear about your favorite book boyfriends!), visit her website, like her on Facebook or join her Facebook group Book Boyfriend Heroes for exclusive excerpts and giveaways.
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