by Vivien Jackson
Date Released: April 4, 2017
About Wanted & Wired
A rip-roarin’ new snarky, sexy sci-fi paranormal romance series with the perfect balance of humor, heat, and heart.
Now that Texas has seceded and the world is spiraling into chaos, good guys come in unlikely packages and love ignites in the most inconvenient places…
Rogue scientist • technologically enhanced • deliciously attractive
Heron Farad should be dead. But technology has made him the man he is today. Now he heads a crew of uniquely skilled outsiders who fight to salvage what’s left of humanity: art, artifacts, books, ideas—sometimes even people. People like Mari Vallejo.
Gun for hire • Texan rebel • always hits her mark
Mari has been lusting after her mysterious handler for months. But when a by-the-book hit goes horribly sideways, she and Heron land on the universal most wanted list. Someone set them up. Desperate and on the run, they must trust each other to survive, while hiding devastating secrets. As their explosive chemistry heats up, it’s the perfect storm…
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An Excerpt from Wanted & Wired
“Heron? Can you read my mind?”
He pressed his lips tight together but otherwise stayed as still as he could. Which was not easy this close. To her. In the dark. He could feel her breath on his throat, and every part of him ached to close even the slight space between them.
Yes, technically, he’d been hearing her thoughts ever since he’d logged in to the Pentarc wireless. He hadn’t meant to let on, though. Blood and heat rose in his face, and he was glad of the dark.
He was somewhat less thrilled that he didn’t immediately compensate, though. What the hell was wrong with his internal systems? He regulated surface temperature and blood flow, but he still felt hot. No, not merely hot. His body was a wildfire, and he wielded an eyedropper trying to put out sparks. Clearly, harnessing all this extra power from the Pentarc was putting pressure on his control systems. He was holding steady, but just.
Mari waited, still and tense, for his answer. Finally, he huffed a breath against her hair, tasting her shampoo. His shampoo. Her body lathered in his smell.
He knew he ought to put some more space between them. Ought to step away. But he didn’t. He hardly moved at all, besides breathing. “The processing core of a hyperstructure like Pentarc is big, and I’ve appropriated a good portion of it, as much as I can on wireless. Imagine aiming a gun barrel the size of North America. All that firepower, and it’s all mine. The increased capacity enables me to access your thoughts.”
As if they behaved independently of his will, his hands sought her waist. The right one slipped beneath the burred terry of her robe, splayed against sweet, hot skin. The sense-tips in his fingers hummed with input, and there was no way he could process it all. Not with a thousand Pentarc cores at his disposal.
He couldn’t make himself step away. He wanted to hold her closer, closest. Never let go. He wanted to loose his questing thoughts into her brain, make her think whatever he pleased, or simply make her pleased. His body tightened, ached for her. God.
He was running a full four degrees hotter than normal. Not enough to fry electricals, but definitely in the danger zone. And no matter how much power he sucked from the arcology’s reactor, he couldn’t douse the flames in his body.
Her thoughts smothered him.
He could see her desire in vivid imagery, hear it in her voice, spoken and unspoken. Her mind was a garden, lush and golden and gorgeous, and he wanted to stretch out naked in it, let it grow over him and encase him. He wanted to be tangled in her.
Oh, hell, as if he hadn’t been for a long time now. The power surge was just making the partition of such thoughts harder than usual.
Hard. Thoughts. Fuck.
Mari leaned into his touch. “How long?”
He knew what she meant. She meant how long had he been reading her thoughts, if he’d been able to do it only since jacking into the Pentarc or if he’d had the capability before. But on the other hand, it sounded sordid, too, and she didn’t clarify out loud. Hell, knowing Mari, she probably meant the double entendre.
The air didn’t have enough oxygen. They might be hiding out in a multiroomed unit, but the foyer was damned cramped. Tiny. Stifling. Intimate. His thumb swept up, skirting the underside of her breast. Her breath hitched.
“Not long enough. But please, if you will, ponder something else.”
Supremely unwise choice of words.
About Vivien Jackson
Vivien Jackson is still waiting for her Hogwarts letter. In the meantime, she writes, mostly fantastical or futuristic or kissing-related stories. When she isn’t writing, she’s performing a sacred duty nurturing the next generation of Whovian Browncoat Sindarin Jedi gamers, and their little dogs too. With her similarly geeky partner, she lives in Austin, Texas, and watches a lot of football.
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