Nicole also writes contemporary/new adult romance as Timberlyn Scott.
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By Nicole Edwards
The Alluring Indulgence Series
What’s hotter than a Texas cowboy? Seven Texas cowboys.
All with a heart of gold and a sexy, devious side.
Kaleb
Zane
Travis
Holidays with the Walker Brothers
Ethan
Braydon
Sawyer
Brendon
The Club Destiny Series
Come see how hot these powerful men and their lovely ladies can get.
All from the comfort of the infamous Club Destiny.
Conviction
Temptation
Addicted
Seduction
Infatuation
Captivated
Devotion
Perception
Entrusted
Adored
The Dead Heat Ranch Series
Love cowboys?
Love smokin’ hot cowboys and the sweet, sexy cowgirls they love?
Come on in and stay a while.
Boots Optional
Betting on Grace
Overnight Love
The Devil’s Bend Series
Sexy is just the beginning for these down home cowboys.
Add in a little country music, some big dreams and you’re in for a ride.
Chasing Dreams
Vanishing Dreams
The Devil’s Playground Series
Come hang out at Devil’s Playground - the hottest nightclub in Las Vegas, Dallas and New York! This is a spin-off series from Southern Boy Mafia,
featuring those who work at Max Adorite’s nightclub, Devil’s Playground.
Without Regret
The Sniper 1 Security Series
The Kogans and the Trexlers are in the business of protecting those who need to be protected. And their motto is: Protect... by any means necessary.
Wait for Morning
Never Say Never
The Southern Boy Mafia Series
Everybody loves a bad boy!
Beautifully Brutal
Beautifully Loyal
Standalone Novels
Just to spice things up a bit!
A Million Tiny Pieces
Writing as Timberlyn Scott
Unhinged
Unraveling
Chaos
Because Naughty can be oh so Nice®
Keep reading for an excerpt from:
Wait for Morning
Sniper 1 Security, #1
Nicole Edwards
One
Connecticut
February
Thump-scrape-thump
Marissa Trexler came awake slowly, trying to fight the groggy feeling as she forced her eyes open. A quick glance at the blurry red digits on the alarm clock told her it was just after midnight. The dim light from the lamp on her bedside table, along with the Kindle resting on her chest, said she’d fallen asleep reading again.
She really needed to stop doing that. More than likely, the suspense novel she’d been engrossed in before she finally dozed off was making her paranoid. Stephen King had a way of doing that to a person.
Sliding the e-reader to the pillow beside her, Marissa scrubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands and glanced over at the bedroom door. Shut and locked. Exactly the way she’d left it. No boogeyman looming over her, ready to do whatever it was that boogeymen did.
She lay there, momentarily listening for the sound that had awoken her. Nothing.
Yep, just as she’d thought. Paranoid. Thanks a lot, Mr. King. Maybe it really was time to switch to some lighter reading at night. Perhaps her best friend, Courtney, was right, Marissa should try romance on for size.
Just when she reached for the lamp to shroud the room in darkness so she could attempt to get back to the blessed dreamless state she’d been in, Marissa stopped, her hand hovering inches from the lamp base.
Thump-scrape
Okay, maybe paranoid wasn’t the right word because she clearly hadn’t imagined the sound that time.
Glancing toward her bedroom door once more, Marissa tried to make sense of the noise, but she couldn’t. It sounded almost as though someone was dragging something across the floor and then carelessly dropping it. Over and over again.
There was no way that could possibly be it, though.
Right?
Maybe it was the screen door. Yes, that made perfect sense. A much more likely culprit. The damn thing was always coming unlatched, a reoccurring problem with the blistering cold winds slamming brutally against her small rental—aka safe house—especially in the dead of winter.
Not for the first time, Marissa wished she was back in Texas. Back where the temperatures weren’t freeze-your-nipples-off cold.
Figuring the screen door wouldn’t fix itself, Marissa forced her legs over the edge of the bed and slid her feet into her cable-knit boot slippers.
Thump-scrape-thump
A frisson of fear sliced through her at the sound, making her toes curl against the faux fur encasing her feet and causing her heart to slam into her ribs. The screen door was never that consistent.
Swallowing past the lump of ice-cold terror lodged in her suddenly dry throat, Marissa managed to get to her feet. After grabbing her heavy robe from the chair beside the bed, she slowly slipped out of her bedroom, moving down the short, narrow hallway toward the front door as she pulled her robe over trembling arms. Forgoing the lights on her way, she kept her ears tuned to the sound.
Thump-scrape-thump
This time Marissa stopped midstride, standing a mere foot from the doorway that led to the living room as she tried to pinpoint the direction of the noise. It didn’t sound like it was coming from the front of the house, which meant … the screen door wasn’t the guilty party.
Thump-tha-thump
Thump-tha-thump
Swallowing hard, Marissa realized that new thumping sound was her heart—threatening to beat right out of her chest.
That realization didn’t do a damn thing to help the oncoming panic attack.
Thump-scrape-thump
Shit.
Not her heart.
Oh, God!
Marissa listened for a moment, noticing the house was now void of all noise except for the soft rumble of heat through the air vents and the drumbeat coming from her chest. Was the sound coming from behind her? She tried to force her feet to move, but the overwhelming fear kept her rooted in place.
Before the direction to run could make it from her brain to her feet, a hard, firm hand came over her mouth, yanking her back against an equally hard, firm body.
The cobwebs of sleep still saturated her gray matter, making it difficult to register the need to scream, but instinct had her instantly trying to wiggle away.
No! Not again!
A muffled sound escaped her—anything more was hindered by the large palm crushed over her mouth—but it wasn’t nearly loud enough to attract help. Or maybe that was the terror lodged in her throat keeping the sound at bay. Either way, she found herself desperately trying to suck in air, stumbling as the massive body behind her pulled her away from the living room, forcing her to shift her feet or fall to the floor.