The 10,000 word novella Los Ángeles Vengadores, originally written here as a series of blog posts, will be coming soon to an e-reader near you for an affordable price. It has been extensively edited. Publication date will hopefully be at the end of this week — no decision has been made regarding its future in printed form. The novella features a determined heroine, Bea, and Jesse, the man who saves her from her own stubborn grit.
They’d needed the sex – both of them. Without being told, Bea knew that’s what it was, too. Sex. A simple fuck. It wasn’t just the lack of softer emotion in Jesse’s touch or sensitivity to the fact that he hadn’t kissed her. She simply knew, deep inside, that his heart was shuttered as tightly as the emotions he kept from his eyes and face. Bea read more from his body language than from his eyes and mouth, and was certain he was the sort of man who said more by his silence on certain subjects than through discussion.
He cared for her, Bea thought, staring through the window as the moon rose. He cared what became of her. He felt the obligation deeply, and had made himself responsible for her safety – for returning her to the United States without connecting her true identity to Manuel’s murder. Bea didn’t need to be told he would never be at peace if he lost her to Manuel’s cronies. For Jesse’s sake – for the survival of his heart and soul – she had to escape, even at the cost of himself.
Jesse wanted her, too, lusted fiercely. It wasn’t about her, though. Whatever desire for Bea that he’d brought to their bed had been coupled with a need for affection and a desperate plea for faith in humanity; afterward, he drew back in the grip of a reaction she had understood. Oh, he was more at ease with her physically. His hand now rested in the small of her back, and when he’d joined her in the bed, he’d tangled a hand in her hair and tugged her face down to his shoulder. But the reserve she glimpsed indicated clearly his desire for emotional distance.
He’d been hungry, carnal and hotly impatient to fuck her, but it had been exactly right in the moment they’d shared. It wouldn’t always be exactly right.
Bea sighed into the night and wished for escape. How she wished to escape. Ana would have reveled in the adventure, and in Jesse, but now that the deed was done, Bea wanted nothing more than a mindless week to grieve. Every hour it was harder to put away the need to rail and scream and curse at whatever providence that had stolen Ana. Every day it was harder to wake up and fight again. Every hour she prayed to be free to shed every tear, until her head cleared and she had laid Ana’s soul to rest alongside her own body.
Instead, she stayed awake in the bed…
Warning: Happy endings are not always what you might expect.