Alessa Kelly's Blog, page 2

This former Green Beret risks everything to protect the woman he loves

Hello, lovely readers.

Writing Her Devoted Protector had got me thinking deeper than ever as an author.

Although, I must say, finishing it makes me a bit sad because I have the softest spot for the main character, rescue specialist Mark Connor.

I've been told a pro author shouldn't get emotionally invested in their own characters.

Hell, I am! And the emotions and sleepless nights seem to have paid off. Her Devoted Protector has earned a five-star badge from Readers' Favorite! You can read the review here.

PLUS... today, I've got a short teaser video for you!

Click to watch.











Her Devoted Protector is the sizzling second book in the Red Mark Rescue & Protect romantic suspense series.

Preorder Her Devoted Protector to ignite desire today! It goes live on October 17th (free with Kindle Unlimited).

Amazon US

Amazon Canada

Amazon UK

Amazon Australia

"Fans of romantic suspense will be enthralled by this life-or-death thrill ride that keeps them on the edge of their seats. Her Devoted Protector continues to deliver a thrilling and emotional experience in the series." - Readers' Favorite, ★★★★★

To our heroes,
Alessa

A true hero isn't just about his brawn ❤️

Everybody hurts. Sometimes deeply.

It takes courage to turn it around and use the pain as fuel to do good for others.

Attorney general Ivy Cavanagh and rescue specialist Mark Connor both carry painful pasts.

Never forgetting her violent childhood, Ivy swears to protect at-risk kids. Having known Mark for years, she doesn't hesitate to declare her love for the former Green Beret.

Mark bears a hidden wound. Dedicating his life to rescue missing children, he vows to keep the beautiful lawyer at arm's length although inside, he loves, respects and genuinely cares for Ivy.

Can their simmering passion survive secrets, betrayals, and brutal crime lords?

Pre-order Her Devoted Protector today!

Amazon US

Amazon Canada

Amazon UK

Amazon Australia

"A powerful, character-driven romantic thriller." - Self-Publishing Review, ★★★★½

Her Devoted Protector is the sizzling second book in the Red Mark Rescue & Protect romantic suspense series. If you like slow-burn chemistry, fiery relationships, and shocking twists, you’ll adore this seductive tale.

Unleash your goodness,
Alessa

Enter my Goodreads Giveaway and win a paperback copy of Her Devoted Protector

Hello, lovely readers.

Her Devoted Protector goes live next month, and I'm running a Goodreads giveaway.

ENTER HERE for a chance to win a paperback copy of the book!



The cover came out really well and I'm damn proud of it. And of course, it's not just the cover. I can't wait for you to read it ❤️.

Go on! The Goodreads giveaway is simple and free to enter.

The giveaway is open for readers in the US and Canada only.

Best,
Alessa

PS: While you're on Goodreads, check out my profile and give me a follow here.

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Her Devoted Protector is available for preorder:

Amazon US

Amazon Canada

Amazon UK

Amazon Australia

"A compelling read from start to finish." - Readers' Favorite, ★★★★★

"With visceral and vivid storytelling unfurling a twisted plot, and a set of romantic protagonists who are each complex and intriguing in their own way, Kelly continues to entice with this tautly penned series." Self-Publishing Review, ★★★★½

"Mark was the alpha with a big heart. The whole book was a thrill ride, and that was just the beginning." - Hidden Gems Reviewer, ★★★★★

Enjoy the first two chapters of Her Devoted Protector

Hello, lovely readers.

Her Devoted Protector teaser is here!

I think Ivy Cavanagh is the strongest female lead I've created so far. Readers' Favorite describes her as 'headstrong,' and the chemistry between her and the hero, former Green Beret Mark Connor, 'sizzling.'

I must admit, I have the softest spot for Mark. The hunky rescue specialist is a thinking man, great with kids (ahem...), and very tender and caring. I hope you love him as much as I do.

Enjoy,
Alessa


HER DEVOTED PROTECTOR: A Rescue & Protect Romance Suspense Novel

Chapter 1 - Ivy Wren Cavanagh

Helena, Montana

The car doors open one by one. The wind rushes in, and soon I hear boots hitting the ground. It must’ve been the men jumping out.

I’m blindfolded and gagged, and my hands are tied behind my back. Those men have abducted me from my home, and we’ve traveled less than an hour, so I’m likely still within the city limits. But you don’t need to go far to find a secluded space in Montana. Hearing widespread grass and leaves blowing in the wind, I sense that I’ve been taken to a place where the only eyes witnessing proceedings are those of owls or coyotes.

Someone pushes me off my seat, and I tumble out of the vehicle. Then I feel two men passing their hands under my arms, dragging me. Their moves are so rough and swift that my feet almost lift off the ground. It must be ten yards or so before we finally stop.

Something creaks in front of me. I think someone is opening a door. It sounds woody, but the ground I’m treading feels like concrete. The smell of moss is strong, and it’s so damn cold in here. I’m sure I’m in an enclosed space now—perhaps it’s part of the Mosaic headquarters.

The men shove me forward, so I walk on my own for a few steps. Soon I’m forced to kneel. One of my captors pulls out my gag but leaves the blindfold and keeps my wrists bound.

The silence is eerie. It’s not absolute silence. Rather, it’s frigid air filled with harsh breaths released by men who, I guess, will do anything to hurt me.

One taps their boot from one end, followed by another behind me. They’re certainly trying to toy with my psyche. I think they removed my gag to figure out how frightened I am behind my lack of response.

Then I hear steady footsteps ending right in front of me.

“Attorney General Cavanagh.” His voice is sandy and deep, just like the voice I heard on the phone before I was taken—only here, it has a touch of grandiose thanks to the echo. He calls himself Deuce. No one knows who he is, but many believe he’s the man behind the feared and powerful drug syndicate Mosaic.

“Deuce,” I greet him.

“You’re shivering.”

“I didn’t know Mosaic was this broke. Can’t even pay for heating. Fentanyl business hitting a rough patch? And I haven’t even started!”

“Ah, that’s exactly what I admire about politicians. They always see things through rose-tinted glasses, even when they can’t see at all.” The sound of his footsteps circles me. “You might’ve rattled the industry with your war declaration. But don’t flatter yourself. Mosaic is stronger and more prosperous than ever.”

Deuce moves away. There’s a splash as his feet land somewhere, maybe on a puddle. And when I listen carefully, there’s water dripping.

“What, AG Cavanagh?” Obviously, he knows I’m trying to figure out the environment around me.

“Was that you pissing yourself?”

He slaps me.

But I stay upright, challenging him. “I didn’t know you’re the slapping type. The coward type. Let me see you!”

Silence falls again. Then a man steps behind me, and my blindfold is removed.

I immediately look up.

“There you are!” Deuce hisses.

I should’ve known it wouldn’t be this easy. The prick is wearing a mask, but not a ski mask like his soldiers. It’s white and sturdy, like the Phantom of The Opera. Only it covers his whole face. It’s hard to judge his height from where I am, but he’s six-foot-two or thereabout. His hair is hidden under a black beanie, and he’s wearing a tan overcoat that falls almost to his ankles. It’s impossible to make out the exact shape of his body, but from what I can see, he’s a well-built man—just like his soldiers.

“You didn’t think I would show my face, did you? You haven’t earned it.”

“And you’re not as brave as I thought you were.” I look around—four others are surrounding me.

“Oh, I have more men guarding this place. So don’t you think about escaping. I even have spares who are busy getting rid of those two corpses from your house.”

I’m hoping he’s referring to the Mosaic casualties. Although I don’t know the fate of my two bodyguards, who were shot in the attack.

“What do you want?”

“Ah, getting impatient, are we? In time, I will tell you. But first, why don’t we get to know each other?”

“I know you’ve got blood on your hands, Deuce. Young lives you never give a chance to flourish.”

“Another thing about politicians. They give you lectures without looking at themselves.” He then gets his man to show me something on an iPad.

My God. Those boys on the video—some could be as young as fourteen or fifteen—are packing bottles, counting tablets, and smoking like they’ve been addicts all their lives.

“Those are the very people you swear to protect, aren’t they, AG Cavanagh? You declared war against fentanyl. But look at them! They’re gladly contributing to the industry. I can even say they’re thriving.”

“You brainwash them.”

“You and your lawmakers can try until you all die of exhaustion and despair—with your policies, bills, and whatnot. But you’ll barely make a dent.”

“Watch me!”

“Those youths are just products of failed marriages and fucked-up families. You’re not that different,” he mocks. “I can imagine someday Noah will be sitting among those boys, working hard on my factory floor.” He bends down to say to my face, “Too bad the boy’s not here!”

I’m sure he intended to take my son tonight, but I know he’s safe.

“Fuck you!”

“He’s a loose cannon, that boy. What do they say? The first seven years of a child’s life are the most important. How old is he now? Eight? Whatever he’s gone through, the effect is likely to be irreversible. I’ve got a feeling sooner rather than later, he’ll unleash his potential and step into the dark side.”

I’m not a perfect mother, but I will never let Noah be a slave like those boys.

“What did your mother do to you, Deuce?”

He hisses and steps closer to me. “She did okay. Look at me now. The most powerful woman in Montana is kneeling in front of me.”

“What do you want?” I repeat.

“You put someone in jail—I’m sure you remember him. I want his release.”

“Too many to count. You’ve got to be more specific.”

“Oh, I’ll give you his name. Don’t you worry.”

“If you want him to be pardoned, ask the governor.”

“You were a fearless prosecutor then. Now, you’re at the top of the justice food chain, and the Montana State Prison is your oyster. You’ll be able to do anything.”

“Who is he, Deuce?”

“Later. Right now, I just want to have fun with you. Perhaps we can prove that lawmakers and criminals can get along after all.”

“Oh, we will get along. Only at the end of it all, there’ll only be one of us—and it won’t be you.”

“Mosaic is bigger than you can ever imagine. It’s bigger than the State of Montana itself. Even if the whole Helena PD or State Troopers rally around you, you’ll never be safe.”

Deuce circles around me again and continue with his warnings, “Not to mention your little family secret. Hm? One that will destroy everything you’ve fought for.”

“I will keep hunting you, Deuce. Whether I’m still in the Justice Building or in hell.”

“I know you’d say something like that. You’re a strong woman. I applaud you. Thirty-six years old. Fighting for her second term as the attorney general of Montana. The youngest in US history when first elected. But you’re not alone in this—and that will make you weak.”

I know where he’s going, and I don’t like it.

“If you satisfy my demand, I’ll guarantee that you, Noah, and your other family will be off-limits. Hands off. Protected. And I don’t mean protection like those hillbillies. What do they call themselves? Red Mark?”

No one should underestimate the men of Red Mark.

When Noah managed to escape the attack tonight, I know the first thing he would’ve done was to call one of them—his ‘watchbear,’ Mark Connor.

And no one should ever underestimate Mark Connor. Or they’ll be as good as dead.

Deuce forces my chin up. “When I say his name, say you’ll release him.”

“Fuck you twice, Deuce!”

He rises swiftly, looming over me like dooms day. But I look up at him, telling him I meant it. I’ve barely met his masked gaze before his knee crashes into the side of my head.

I fall to the ground.

In the haze, I see a shadow move. It’s another of Deuce’s soldiers. Although covered in black from head to toe, I recognize his skinny frame. The elusive teenager had told me he’s the best among the Mosaic troops, and I don’t doubt it.

But the deepest part of my heart cries out for him.

I know Mark is on his way. If he could only save one person in this room, I’d tell him, ‘Save that boy.’

---

Chapter 2 - Mark Connor (a week ago)

When it comes to saving a life, we have little margin for error. And when the life you’re trying to preserve is that of a child, your mission becomes more than just strategies and probabilities. Your physical and mental being belongs to that child. You live for that child—and nothing else—until you get them to safety.

At the Red Mark Rescue & Protect command center, we’re monitoring two of our guys who are storming a suburban house in Billings. After days of searching, we believe that’s where a ten-year-old girl and her younger brother are being held hostage.

A two-hundred-thousand-dollar ransom has been demanded for each of them, but we know nothing will buy the kids’ freedom. The tone of threats and prior records show that the man spearheading the kidnapping is ready to ship the siblings to the highest bidder. Worse, to kill them if things go wrong.

Having cleared the ground floor, the team is now proceeding to the basement.

“Watch out for traps,” I order as they’re about to kick open a door. They know the targets are almost in their sight, but they’re moving a little too fast.

“It’s clean, sir,” Tyler Hunt replies. The former SEAL marksman joined our organization six months ago and has so far proven that the Red Mark blood runs in his vein. Even without his sniper rifle, he’s an asset. He’s a hound when it comes to tracking instincts, and the man is able to calm any distressed kids with his words and, more often, just by being there.

“We’re going in!” he announces and then kicks the door open.

“Do you see them?” Sam Kelleher, my business partner and best friend, asks in anticipation. He keeps rubbing his dark scruff as if it would trawl a ‘yes’ out of Tyler.

“Negative.”

Sam leans forward, his hands now planted firmly on the dashboard. Red Mark is no longer a two-men band, but I must admit, being in the command center is not the same as getting our boots dirty. But I trust Ty and his partner as much as I trust my own partner. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have declared them ready.

“What’s happening with their cameras?” Sam stares at the black screen.

“I think they’re passing a thick wall, sir.” Cora-Lee Rancic, Red Mark’s head of tech, punches the keyboard while switching her views between four monitors. “Boys, change your transmission mode, and I’ll take it from there,” she informs the team. Then she turns to Sam and me. “Picture quality may degrade, but we’ll have visuals back. Give me a minute.” Despite speaking in zeroes and ones when she’s in the zone, the programmer is an effective communicator when it’s crunch time, and she mans the command center like a boss.

“It’s okay. We’ll rely on audio for now,” I advise. “Ty, the BPD still with you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Most of Red Mark’s missions are carried out in collaboration with the local police, and this time it’s the Billings Police Department. We handle the rescue, and they deal with apprehending the criminals.

Suddenly, shots are fired.

“Ty! What the hell is going on?” Sam calls out. “Tyler, do you copy?”

No reply.

“Goddamn it!” His hands are now gripping the edge of the dashboard like he’s riding a roller coaster.

After a few mutters, we hear Tyler. “We’re okay. We had company, but the police took him out. The suspect’s dead, sir.”

“Any signs of the children?”

For a few seconds, we’re getting rustles and static as a response.

“They’re here!” Ty’s voice blares above the noise. “I have eyes on them!”

“Video’s back,” Cora-Lee reports.

And we see Ty’s P.O.V.—a girl hugging an unconscious boy in a corner of a dark room. Only the team’s flashlights illuminate the area.

“Hey, I’m Tyler,” he says to the girl. “Don’t be scared.”

The girl cowers, screaming into her hands.

Holding our breaths, we anticipate Tyler’s next move. Ty and his partner have been through intensive training with Sam and me. I really hope they come through on their first independent mission. Sam is about to say something, but I hold his shoulder, hinting to let the team handle the situation themselves.

“We’re here to get you home,” Ty comforts her. His point of view lowers. No doubt he’s kneeling close to the girl now. “Your parents sent us. Look, they gave me this photo.” I’m sure it’s a family photo that the kids’ mother had passed on to Ty.

The girl raises her eyes to him. The pictures we’re receiving are fuzzy and in black and white, but there’s no doubt she’s warming up to him.

“Please help my brother,” the girl sobs. “They forced him to take a drug. He hasn’t woken up in hours.”

Ty takes the boy’s pulse. “He’ll be okay. Come on, let’s get you two out of here.”

“He’ll beat us,” the girl pleads.

“No. No one will harm you anymore,” Ty softens his voice. “The police are upstairs and outside, guarding us. That bad man is gone. You don’t have to be scared anymore.”

The girl reaches out for Ty, letting his partner take her brother. Her face zooms into view as Ty takes her in his arms. They finally step out of the house, where paramedics await.

“Good work, boys,” I thank them, then nod at Sam. “You’ve trained them well.”

“We’ve trained them well, buddy!” Sam pats my shoulder.

We started our training together, but as I focused on newer recruits, my partner has been out there with Ty on recent missions, and the two former SEALs were unstoppable.

“All right, boys. Time to leave the Midland Empire,” Sam quips.

“Gladly, sir.”

“Good work, Cee,” I praise Cora-Lee. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

The young head of tech smiles as she removes her headset.

Sam and I leave the command center, making our way downstairs. The Red Mark headquarters is three levels. The top floor houses our offices and secure storage spaces—files, server rooms. The second is mainly occupied by our command center, IT, and meeting rooms. The ground floor is the largest, holding the reception area, lounges, gear storage, and our ever-expanding training facility.

Surprisingly, someone is waiting for us. Precisely, two people who are legit part of the Red Mark family, even though they’re not our personnel.

“Dad!” Grace runs to Sam as soon as we join the mother and daughter in the media lounge.

Dad.

I still remember the days when Grace was calling him ‘Sam.’ Barely a year ago. As soon as Sam and Grace’s mother got married, Sam adopted Grace, and the girl has called him ‘Dad’ ever since. After multiple break-ups and trying to copy my life as a bachelor forever, I couldn’t be happier that he’s now a proud father of one and soon two.

“Hey, Pup.” Sam hugs six-hear-old Grace. “Have you been waiting long?”

“No, not really,” she replies.

Cassidy Winter-Kelleher, Sam’s wife—and the reason he can flash a smile full of pride and love like that—maneuvers her bulging belly to lean into him.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He kisses her, caressing her bump. She’s due anytime now. It’s incredible how calm she looks.

“Hi, Mark!” Grace comes to me. Being an uncle to this feisty girl is as close as I can get to being a family man. Nevertheless, it’s an honor.

“Did you find those kids in Billings?” Cass asks.

“Yeah, the guys did. Training and tough love—works every time,” Sam replies.

“Oh, thank God!” Cass gives him an ‘I’m proud of you’ gaze. “I won’t keep you. I just dropped by to see how you were. And to drop off these. New menu from the bar.”

I smell well-seasoned poultry inside the ‘Thirsty Fox’ branded brown bag. The downtown bar is only a couple of blocks away from here. It’s Red Mark’s official watering hole and Cass is the manager.

“Five-spice chicken burgers with Cajun fries,” Cass describes. “Plenty to go around. Let me know what you think.”

“You’re the best, wifey.” Sam doesn’t wait to dip into the bag.

“All right, we’ve gotta go,” Cass tells Grace.

“Bye, Dad.” Grace puts her arms around Sam’s hips.

“I’ll see you at home, Pup.” Sam chews his fries fast and then kisses Grace’s crown.

Grace then waves at me. “Bye, Mark!”

“Bye, sweetheart.” I watch Cass and her mini-me leaving hand in hand.

“I saw you,” Sam hails when we’re alone in the room.

“Saw me what?” I challenge him.

“I saw you twitch every time you hear Grace call me ‘Dad.’” Noticing my mouth move, he quickly adds, giving me no chance to reason, “Don’t say I’m seeing things.”

I roll my eyes, which earns a scoff from him.

He chatters on, “Yes, buddy, this will be one of those lectures of mine. There’s a woman who’s head over heels in love with you. And I know the feeling is mutual. You want a life with her? You want to be called ‘Dad’? You tell her!”

I pass him a bottle of ale.

“I carve my own path. And it doesn’t include a woman in it.”

“Come on. She’s not just any woman!”

It’s true. Ivy Cavanagh is not just any woman. I admire her. I may even love her, albeit secretly. But love had once burned my life to ashes. So the only thing I could do was to dedicate what’s left of me to my work.

Sam takes a bite of his burger. “God, this is good.” He then carries on, “Mark, brother. There’s no one I’d rather have by my side in any situation. But that love brain of yours—whatever happened to it!”

“My amygdala is just fine,” I deadpan and continue devouring my lunch. Goodness—this is what you call a chicken burger.

Sam starts the television, letting the news roll without paying attention to it. While he’s snacking on the last pieces of fries, I get up. “I’m gonna make some tea.”

“You and your hibiscus tea,” he comments, his head following me. “But don’t walk away from our conversation.”

We’re crossing live now to The Capitol, where the attorney general is giving a press conference.

“Hah!” Sam yells victoriously. “Even NBC Montana agrees with me. Look who’s on the news! It’s a sign.”

I ignore him, looking into the tea canister as if the hibiscus leaves would give me an answer to a question I don’t even want to ask. I take my mug of tea and a jar of honey, keeping cool as I sit beside Sam.

“I see that!” he elbows me. “You twitched again.”

Hell, yeah. This time I know I did. Something stirs in me every time I see that man with an earpiece by her side. The retired Army ranger turned bodyguard is in his late forties and not looking for love. But where he’s standing—that used to be my place. I remember how good it felt to be her protection. How right it felt.

Ivy Wren—I like to call her by her first and middle name in my head.

She sits tall, looking straight into the camera. While facing the public, her diamond-shaped face doesn’t usually give much. But when she speaks, it’s her eyes as much as her voice.

The trajectory of illicit fentanyl use is alarming—especially among our youth. In Montana alone, there’s been a one-thousand percent increase in fatal overdoses linked to fentanyl in the past five years.

Those ridiculous hazel eyes—mostly brown in the middle, with a tinge of green around the edge of her irises. Even through a television screen, they have the same effect on me. Whirs disturb my chest as if she was in this room, stripping me defenseless.

Strength defines Ivy Cavanagh. Yet, I’ve seen firsthand how that strength can yield to gentleness. Among egos and tensions, she won’t hesitate to put politics aside and cool down the temperature. And she has never lost her human heart. One particular case stayed with me, where a girl with a learning disability was taken from her home. Because of Ivy’s encouragement, the girl’s grief-stricken father was able to talk and help with the investigation. It wasn’t her role as the attorney general, and she could’ve left it to the police. But she stayed, and I believe her action came from a place of genuine compassion.

Today, I declare the State of Montana at war with illegal fentanyl. Now I’ll be taking questions.

Her head slants as she listens to a reporter from ABC Fox. The wavy end of her hair bounces over her chest. Then she swipes her fringe aside as she gives her answer, revealing her whole face—determined, full of intent.

“The Mosaic is going to go after her,” Sam comments.

Her words are indeed targeted at the alleged biggest fentanyl trafficker in the state.

“She knows what she’s doing.” I sip my tea, switching my attention to her bodyguard. I sure hope that man is up to the task.

“She’s lost weight, don’t you think?” This is the first time we’ve seen her in weeks, and Sam is right. “Perhaps it’s time you called her. I know small talk isn’t your forte, but I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

The whirs in my chest are forming words which I maybe, possibly, could say to her if I made that call. But truly, small or big—talking to Ivy is not my forte. “What has it got to do with me?”

“You’re unbelievable!” Sam cringes as I cringe to myself at what I just said. “Rena might’ve broken your heart.” God, I haven’t heard that name in years! “But I know for a fact she didn’t brainwash you.”

If brainwashing had been on the table, I would’ve chosen it in a heartbeat. What that woman did to me was a hundred times worse.

Nevertheless, everything about Ivy has got everything to do with me—because deep down I care about her. But there’s a reason why I never show it.

My best friend looks me in the eye. “Remember what I told you happened when you lay unconscious in St Peter’s Hospital? After you took a bullet for Grace?”

All lives are precious, but saving that girl was the best thing I’ve done in my life.

Sam continues, “Ivy was the first one to get to you. She was by your side when I got there. Waiting, whispering to you to hold on. And dammit, Mark, you squeezed her hand. You fucking squeezed her hand. If it takes unconsciousness for you to be aware of what’s in your heart, I’m going to drag you to her and kick you in the head.”

“You can’t wait to see a tale of redemption?”

“You’ve got nothing to redeem, Mark. None of it was your fault. Rena betrayed you. She hurt you heartlessly. You and Ivy—it’s not a tale of redemption. It’s about why you’re here in Montana. It’s why you left New York. It’s about you coming out of your monolithic cave.”

“She’s harboring a secret.”

“Who isn’t?”

“Well, that’s precisely why. I have secrets too.”

“Do you?”

I look at him seriously.

His lips flatten. “Mark, we’ve known each other for how long?”

“You don’t even know the half of me.”

“That’s an insult!”

“Didn’t you say everybody harbors a secret?”

“Gah! You’re annoying,” Sam sulks. “Still, you’re like my brother, so I’m telling you this again. She loves you.”

I never deny it. Besides having confessed to Sam, she had been giving out signals. Cautious, restrained—but I knew. As a Green Beret, I was trained to read people—friends or foes. As a civilian, inadvertently, I’ve become an expert in reading my clients, including Ivy.

There’s no mistaking a woman in love. I saw that in her every time we met—her eyes sparkled, and elation rose in her face.

Back when it was just Sam and me running Red Mark, she never failed to check on us after every assignment. She’d hug Sam with a warm smile and a firm, friendly hold. But when she came to me, her face angled down, her arms softened… She’d let her glorious brunette hair drop and caress my arm, and her neck would open up to me.

I’d never found out if it was worse to try to repel her or risk it all for her. Opening up to Ivy would’ve been like undoing the stitches that hold my heart together. I wasn’t ready to gamble on whether Ivy Cavanagh could stem the bleeding.

In the end, I let the pain of the past win. I kept my distance and built a fortress. That’s the path I’ve carved for myself. Because I knew the moment my heart bled again, I would stop being human, and I didn’t even want to think what I’d be capable of.

Ivy’s love for me is neither accepted nor rejected, and I feel responsible if she ever feels hurt. So far, she’s taken it all in with finesse and regard. She keeps it professional between us, respecting our boundaries. I’m no longer her security, but since Red Mark switched focus from guarding to rescuing missing children, we continue to work together.

Sometimes I ask myself why she keeps hanging on. She doesn’t need me. For god’s sake, she has brought down many dangerous, powerful men with her wit and intelligence. And with her power and looks, she could have any man. But somehow, I understand her. A human heart is a beast that can’t be tamed. She’s the type who stands tall and has the strength to bear love alone.

Sam clears up the table, throwing away the trash-filled Thirsty Fox bag. Then something catches my eye. My protective instincts kick in seeing what’s unfolding in the press conference. “What the hell is that?”

Ivy’s assistant interrupts and whispers something in her ear. She immediately gets up and leaves the podium. Just as she’s about to disappear off camera, I notice her taking her cell phone out.

Like a show coming straight into one’s living room, my phone rings.

“Mark.”

It’s her.

“Ivy, are you okay?”

“Someone has taken Noah.”

I put the phone on speaker so Sam can listen in.

“He was at school and… I don’t know, Mark. Apparently, he followed someone and never came back. Meet me at Noah’s school.”

“We’re on our way!” I gather my gear.

Sam does the same. “It’s got to be the Mosaic!”

“We don’t know that. Noah followed someone. Perhaps he knows the man.”

“When you get there, take her hand, and tell her everything will be okay. Got it? Don’t just stand there like an insurance salesman.”

I glare at him.

“Or hug her. That’ll be even better,” my best friend insists.

“She’s the Attorney General of Montana, and right now, she’s our client.”

I take the wheel, driving straight to Noah’s school. By now, Sam seems to have lost his will to reason with me.

After a few moments, he starts fidgeting, rubbing his chin. I know he still has something to say.

“Mark,” he drawls. His round, gray eyes settle on me as if looking for an explanation. “What did you mean when you said I don’t even know the half of you?”

“Not a good time, Sam.”

He quits looking at me, puffing. “I really don’t want this to happen, brother. But the longer you go on like this, the stronger my vision is of you dying alone.”

“I won’t die alone, buddy. I’ll take my killer with me.”

---

Thanks for reading the first two chapters of Her Devoted Protector.

A reviewer from popular site Readers' Favorite says:

"The chemistry between Mark and the headstrong single mother adds depth and complexity to the story, making their romance all the more captivating." ★★★★★

Pre-order Her Devoted Protector to ignite desire today!

Out on October 17th. Free with Kindle Unlimited.

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A Green Beret, a gripping romantic suspense, and a puppy

Hello, lovely readers.

My upcoming romantic suspense book, Her Devoted Protector, is a love and life story of rescue specialist and former Green Beret Mark Connor.

I created him in the name of romance, but some elements of his character were inspired by another Green Beret.

No, not John Rambo.

But the father of US Special Forces—Colonel Aaron Bank. He always strived to go above and beyond the call of duty. Notably, he mounted a difficult rescue in the Indo China, which included several children.

Her Devoted Protector is filled with plenty of sizzling chemistry and pulse-pounding action.

Here are four reasons why this book may be your next great read:

✅ Strong-willed lovers with emotional tensions and tender connections between them

✅ A handsome military hero with a soft centre

✅ An unforgettable wedding proposal

✅ Ok... I've got to include this: the hero adopts a puppy that nobody else wanted




If you have pre-ordered, thank you. If not, get Her Devoted Protector today! It goes live on October 17th (free with Kindle Unlimited).

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"I read the whole book in one day. It was so captivating I had to find out how Ivy and Mark’s story ended!" - Hidden Gems Reviewer, ★★★★★

Kind heart, fierce mind, brave spirit,
Alessa

Her Devoted Protector cover reveal

"Duty is what I do for others. Devotion is all of me that I faithfully give to you." - Mark Connor

Hello lovely readers.

Former Green Beret Mark Connor knows danger, and he understands loss. Forever carrying a scar from a painful tragedy, he dedicates his life to bringing home missing children.

Men serving in the Special Forces are known for their intelligence and hardy psyche, which inspired me to create Mark in Her Devoted Protector, the second book in the Red Mark Rescue & Protect series.

Now... I'm excited to reveal the cover!



A little bit about the art:

♥ The Red Mark logo

Red Mark is named after its two founders, Samuel Redley Kelleher (nicknamed Red) and Mark Connor. The fox is their mascot; it's a resilient and resourceful animal with sharp tracking instinct, and one of the most protective in the canine family.

♥ The model

Based on the most votes from last week's poll posted on my mailing list, this strapping hunk is the winning model who portrays Mark Connor. Mark is a thinking hero; rugged and handsome, too, of course. A perfect choice!

♥ The lit-up lodge

It represents Mark's vacation home which he turns into a safe house for his love interest, State Attorney General Ivy Cavanagh, and her family, as they weather an attack from a vicious drug syndicate. It's located in a beautiful farm on a hill in Central Montana. Think huge fireplaces and midnight cuddles...

I hope you love the cover as much as I do :).

Till next time!

Heroes endure,
Alessa

Her Devoted Protector is available for preorder:

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Cherish Me Forever is live

"A man who satisfies you even before you ask, a man who doesn’t play games and isn’t afraid of showing how much you mean to him—is a man who will cherish you forever." - Isabelle Martins

Hello, lovely readers.

I have 'Fire in the Ocean' by Shane Smith And The Saints blasting in the background, stirring the fire in my belly.

No, it isn't the curry lunch, but it's because...

Cherish Me Forever is live!

If you have made your purchase, thank you! If you haven't, get it today from your local Amazon store (free with Kindle Unlimited):

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Cherish Me Forever is the spicy second book in the Hartley Brothers romantic suspense series.

What you'll get:

✅ A swoon-worthy billionaire
✅ A courageous heroine
✅ Gripping action and hot chemistry
✅ A bedroom affair which you'll engage in only if you trust your partner completely

In the name of romance,
Alessa

In love and life, who do you trust?

Hello, lovely readers.

They say love and trust are the essential ingredients of a relationship. But when you've been hurt before, trust doesn't come by easy.

Cherish Me Forever explores the relationship between two people who desperately long for each other, need each other, but stay apart because of a wall of fear.

Fear of trusting one another.

Will their romance end in shocking truths and bloodstained lies?

Click to watch a short teaser video below.






Cherish Me Forever is the spicy second book in the Hartley Brothers romantic suspense series.

If you like courageous heroines, swoon-worthy men, and gritty drama, then you’ll love this romantic suspense.

Preorder Cherish Me Forever to never let go today!

Free with Kindle Unlimited.

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Enjoy the first two chapters of Cherish Me Forever

Hello, lovely readers.

Hot off the press! Here are the first two chapters of Cherish Me Forever, the second book in the Hartley Brothers series.

The book goes live on Jun 3rd. If you have pre-ordered, thank you so much!

Scroll down if you want to go straight into it. But if you've got time for some fun facts, read on:

I enjoy writing the Hartley Brothers series partially because of the places where the heroes and heroines meet—Switzerland in Book 1 Hold Me Forever, and in this second installment, Clayton and Isabelle meet in Kenya.

The mid-air incident in Chapter 2 (as you'll read in the teaser below) was inspired by my own experience flying through a storm aboard a bush plane en route to Samburu, Kenya. Not as dramatic as Clayton's, of course, but it was pretty intense.


We arrived in Samburu in one piece.
Looking at the blue sky you would ask: "Storm? What storm?" 😁

Alright, that's enough rambling.

Enjoy the teaser!
Alessa




CHERISH ME FOREVER: A Hartley Brothers Romance Suspense


Chapter 1 - Isabelli Luna Martins

New York - three years ago

A chance or a risk?

Right now, it makes no difference to me. I’ve planned this for weeks, and there’s no time for a last-minute ‘let’s think about it, Iz’ jitters. I’ve got to get myself and my son away from Nando—far enough for us to lay low for a couple of months. Then, once I’ve given birth, I’ll be able to move again.

“Raffi, come on, baby. It’s time.” I wake my seven-year-old son.

“I’m still tired!” He slithers under the covers until I can only see his crown.

“We’ve got to go now.” I tug the comforter off him, mother’s guilt swarming me.

On my phone, a notification shows Nando’s flight has just departed. So for sure, he won’t be back until tomorrow night.

Raffi complains some more, but he eventually drags himself out of bed.

“You’ve got Mr. Oreo?” The fluffy toy is tucked under his arm. I’m just reminding him to hold on to it. Raffi won’t go anywhere without his beloved toy black lab. He’s hugged it, taken it for a walk (his version), slept with it—and on it—since I gave it to him for his third birthday.

We make our way down to the garage. Raffi settles himself in the back seat of my packed SUV, mumbling, “If Dad finds out, we’ll be in trouble.”

That man said he was going to marry me. Sweet, innocent Nando. But I never wish to get near that nightmarishly-ever-after milestone. I met him when I was seventeen and had Raffi when I was nineteen. He said finding me, a Latina with blue eyes, was like witnessing a rare flower that only bloomed one night a year. It should’ve been perfect. Until Nando turned my dream into hell. But I kept going, clinging to the hope that I could change him back to the man I fell in love with.

“He’s not here, baby, and he won’t know where we’re going.” I cover Raffi with a blanket and put on his seatbelt. My finger stiffens as I press the garage remote like I’m launching a bomb.

There might not be such a thing as a safe haven against Nando, but a temporary refuge is all I need until I can get help. In what form or from whom, I don’t know. But there’s got to be something or someone on this earth that can help me free myself from his clutch.

“Mom! Wait! Mr. Oreo!”

I sigh. “He’s not with you?”

“No.”

“Raffi! Where is it?” I rummage around him and through the car. “It’s not here,” I huff.

“Mom, find him. Please…”

He must’ve dropped the toy somewhere in the house. “You stay here, okay? I’ll get Mr. Oreo.”

A faint sound of a vehicle halts me.

Our house is perched on a cliff, facing the Atlantic Ocean. Our closest neighbor is a mile away. Whoever I hear is driving the cliff road and can’t know we’re leaving.

“Wait here, Raffi. Stay quiet.” I scramble to close the garage door before I return to the house.

I peep out the window. “Shit! Fuck!”

This isn’t happening. That man is supposed to be up there somewhere in the atmosphere, and he seems to be in a hurry to get home.

Too late to do anything else, I head to the kitchen.

I don’t need him to announce I’m home. The clinking sound of him tossing his keys into the bowl has primed me to heighten my alertness—and fear.

“Honey! You’re back early.” I throw him a surprised smile, a drink in my hand.

Nando strides to me, playing with the waves of my honey-brown hair, then circling his arms around my chest.

“Flight got canceled?” I ask, casually stopping him from kneading my breasts. His fondling hurts—an unwelcome kind of hurt because of my pregnancy. He knows it, but he doesn’t give a damn.

“The whole thing tomorrow got canceled, so there’s no point in me flying to San Fran.” He observes the glass in my hand.

“Want some? Mock margarita.”

“I don’t do fakes, honey. But I’m glad you’re into them.” He sits down, staring at me. “Something wrong with the heater?” He questions my choice of clothes.

“No. I had to go to the shop, and I haven’t had a chance to change.”

“Huh.” He throws a cold, scrutinizing gaze before leaving the kitchen.

His steps get heavy.

“Where’s Raffi?” he yells as he stands at the bottom of the stairs.

“He’s asleep. Why?”

“What’s Mr. Oreo doing here?” The fluffy toy is next to his feet.

Shit…

“Iz, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

Nando seizes my hand, dragging me as he shoots up to the second floor. My feet can hardly keep up with him. I almost trip on every tread. He clutches my neck from behind as we stare at Raffi’s empty bed.

“You’re trying to run away?” He scans our son’s bare closet. “Huh?”

“Nando, listen.” I caress his hand despite his tightening grip. He lets me go, only to spin me around. “Nando… please.” I plant my hand on his chest, trying to soothe him.

I don’t have to wait to realize that nothing will ever calm his ire.

He snatches Raffi’s rocket ship bedside lamp and swings it at my belly. It breaks in two. It’s kids’ plastic decoration—it’ll hardly bruise me—but the impact is enough to push me back and stir an ache behind my belly button.

Seeing me still standing, he turns me around and presses my thirty-week bump against the wall.

“Nando! Stop!” I cry despite my hampered breathing.

“One child is bad enough. I’ve got no time to deal with another!” he yells when he finally relents.

I turn my head to him, but I don’t dare move. He’s not a big man, and unlike how he treats Raffi, he knows not to leave a mark on me. But seeing his rage-pumped fist and viperous stare, I know I’m facing an aberrant Nando. A blow to my stomach and both my baby and I will die.

He grabs the collar of my shirt. “I would’ve gotten rid of the first one if I’d known you’d be so difficult.”

“Let me go, please,” I beg when he drags me back downstairs.

“Where’s that fucking rascal?”

“He’s not here!”

“We both know he won’t go anywhere without Mr. Oreo!”

Nando kicks the soft toy away and then shoves me to the floor. My tailbone gets the brunt of the impact this time, and the pain travels fast to my abs.

“Raffi!” he shouts, heading to the garage.

I push myself up. I’ve got to stop him, or Raffi will get more than just cuts and bruises.

“No! You leave him alone!” I hang on to his neck however I can, getting my bulging belly out of the way.

As I gouge whatever part of him I can lay my fingers on, he spins around like prey trying to free itself from a predator. Only this predator isn’t his match. He hurls me against a mirror like I’m a useless sack. My back hits the cracked glass and then lands on the floor. Facing the hallway, I realize I’ve been leaving a trail of blood.

Pulsing pain turns to sharp pinches behind my stomach wall. Still, I can’t let that man get to Raffi—whatever the cost. “No, you won’t ever touch him again!” I crawl.

“Raffi!” Nando takes off his belt.

I gather the last bit of my energy to grab his arm. He sets himself free, then turns to me, peering down. My attempt to stop him is jeer-worthy, but I’ve got something else for him.

“You leave him alone!” I lunge at him.

My palm gets bloody, but the piece of broken mirror isn’t in my grip anymore.

Red spreads on Nando’s chest like it’s been dipped in a sink full of dye.

“Fucking bitch…” The curse comes out as a huff.

I meet his eyes—a deep brown I used to admire. He was kind, he was sweet. Until he wasn’t. Was he acting when we first met? How could he have sustained his pretending for years? He always blamed Raffi for his rage, but I think it had always been in him. I was just too late in recognizing it.

Perhaps realizing that I’m simply watching him, Nando reaches out his hand. “Iz… help me…”

I step back, shaking my head. I keep moving away from him until a mighty thump assaults my belly, this time from the inside. Unable to bear my own weight, I sit down, helplessly crying over the blood pooling on the floor between my legs.

I clutch my belly, hollering for Raffi to call an ambulance for me. But the front door bursts open faster than my voice can travel out of the room.

“Iz!”

I turn my head. “Thomas? Thomas!”

“Iz!” My best friend—my only friend, Thomas Matheson—runs to me. His youthful eyes freeze in horror as he stares at the blood pool I’m sitting on. Then he glances at my dead boyfriend.

“Get Raffi and then take me to the hospital,” I tremble.

“Where’s he?” asks Thomas.

“In the car. Did he call you?”

“Yes. Wait here—”

Another voice arrives at the door.

“You brought him with you?” I cry in dismay.

“Iz, no! He must’ve followed me.”

“Jesus, what a mess!” Donovan Fletcher’s lanky form appears at my feet, observing the floor that has turned from red wood to blood red. He stares at Nando’s dead body as his curiosity turns into satisfaction.

His eyes stir with intent as they settle on me. I’ve seen that look before. It’s Don when he’s delighted—when something has happened, and he can’t wait to clean it up.

“Don… take me to the hospital. Please. Or I’m gonna lose my baby!”

Don kneels next to me. “You know how it looks, don’t you?”

His statement compels me to take a second look at the corpse in front of me. Only now do I realize that Nando’s stab wound isn’t the only damage I inflicted on him. Whatever I did when I hung on to his neck, the skin around his Adam’s apple is marred with lacerations.

“Please. We can talk about what happened later,” I beg, then turn to Thomas. “Stay with Raffi. Don’t let him see me like this.”

Don gestures to Thomas to get to my son.

“Don, take me to the hospital. Now!”

“I should thank you. I’d wanted to do this for a long time.” Don kicks Nando’s body.

“We can sort out that asshole later.”

“Oh, believe me, you’ll want me to sort him out sooner than you’re prepared to wait.”

Thomas returns. “Sir, let me take her.”

“Thomas, stay with Raffi!” I command.

“I’ll make all this disappear,” Don claims, giving Nando another glance. He then gets up as if he has to speak his next statement while looking down at me. “I’ll save you, and perhaps your unborn child too. But you must promise me something.”

“You’ll get Nando’s business. That’s a promise.”

“Well, that’s not a promise. That’s a given. What I mean, Iz. You murdered your boyfriend and the father of your child, or children, in cold blood. It’ll take a lot more for me to clean it up—from this place, to the morgue, to the police. You know the drill.” He pops a mint gum into his mouth. “Not to mention keeping Social Services at bay.”

Terror pours into my pain-wracked body. He can take anything from me, but not Raffi!

“What do you want from me?”

“Just promise me.”

“Promise you what?”

“You just have to promise, my darling.”

My cramping escalates. It feels like a rake is scraping the wall of my belly. I can hardly breathe.

Don grips my jaw tightly in his fingers. “Say you promise.”

My lips quiver. “Yes… I pro…mise.”

The filthy man kisses me. “Good.” Then he yells toward the porch. “Thomas!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Take her to the hospital,” Don instructs as he saunters out of the house. His black-clothed frame moves like a shadow, so skinny it might as well be a skeleton in a robe. But I know his power. The weight of his presence is more than just a shadow in my life.

“Come on, Iz,” Thomas covers me with a throw blanket to hide my stained clothes. He’s about to pull me up. “Jesus, your hand… your hand!”

“Just take me to the car!” I shout at him, snapping him out of panic. The kid is only eighteen. He shouldn’t have seen so much blood, but he’s my only hope right now.

Thomas drags me up by the armpits. I’m standing, but my God…

I wail in agony. I can hear it trail across the hallway.

“You can do it. Come on, babe,” Thomas encourages as we navigate the front porch steps.

Raffi is waiting for me in Thomas’s car. “Mom! Are you okay?”

Seeing my son’s face, I leave the trail of my agony at the door. I grin at him. Despite the tragedy and the unknown ahead, I have done something for him. He doesn’t have to be afraid of that ‘monster man’ anymore. “Yes, baby, I’m okay.”

“Thomas found Mr. Oreo.” Raffi innocently shows off the toy he’s cuddling.

“Good. Good.” I caress him with my uninjured hand.

Thomas reverses the car wildly, as if it’s his first time driving.

“Is baby Caili gonna be okay?” Raffi asks as we speed along the cliff road.

“Yes, she is.” I maintain my smile despite the world spinning around me. “When we get to the hospital, you stay with Thomas, okay?”

The boy nods.

“Hug Mr. Oreo.” I move the fluffy toy so it kisses Raffi, fishing out a chuckle from him.

So I’ve freed myself from the hell called Nando, only to fall into the arms of my own Grim Reaper, who will soon drag me into his lair. I’ve made a deal with Donovan Fletcher to save my daughter. I hope, somehow, I’ll be able to free myself again—although this time, I’m up against a man who’s wielding a scythe and not afraid to use it.

As the hospital ‘Emergency’ sign looms, my vision blurs.

“God!” I release a restrained wail, refusing to succumb as the night dips into total darkness. I swear, I will fight to the end for the precious life I’m carrying.

“Iz, hang on!” Even Thomas’s voice is no more than a faint whisper now.

My body contorts, signaling the inevitable.

No…

I… will… fight…



Chapter 2 - Clayton Faber Hartley

US Air Force facility, undisclosed location – present time

After years of bearing the title of ‘former’ fighter jet pilot, I’m back wearing the freedom green uniform, flying through contested airspace once again.

Better still, I’m getting my feet wet. Well, metaphorically, anyway. I’m taking the Snow Leopard 100 over the water. The silver beauty is a seventh-generation stealth fighter with the lowest heat signature yet—so it’s literally the coolest aircraft on the planet.

After opening my comms with our sea assets, I start sharing ops pictures with them.

“Snow Leopard 100, N.E.O data received.”

The confirmation comes loud and clear over the headset, but it’s no time for me to release a victory grin.

First mission accomplished. One to go.

With three minutes left in my allocated time, I’ve got to make the best of this mighty kitty’s electronic warfare system.

“Damn, you sucker. Show yourself!” I mumble to myself, focusing on my radar. They’re surely making it harder than what I was used to.

Ninety seconds to go, and—

“Tally-ho.”

I lock in my target and jam their radar.

“Good work, Snow Leopard.”

I grin at the announcement.

Fuck yeah!

“Thank you, sir. Snow Leopard 100 is RTB.”

RTB, or return to base—I’d uttered it countless times during my military days. Today those three letters still give me the homecoming feeling only a combat pilot can appreciate.

I leave the contested airspace and land the jet with ten seconds to spare.

It was all a test. The Snow Leopard is still a prototype, but I can feel its fuel coursing through my blood. Not only am I the first civilian to fly the damn beauty, but I’ve also proven that Hartley Marine’s communication gateway and locator installed in that aircraft are working as they should.

General Adler welcomes me back to the ground.

“We could do with higher image res and faster transmissions,” the general complains. He was my commander when I was with the Special Tactics Squadron, and it seems he hasn’t lost his urge to kick my ass.

“Unquestionably, sir, some finetuning is on the cards,” I acknowledge.

He smirks, shaking my hand. “I never thought you’d find that target.”

“Well, our system can track every single sea otter on the planet, and it’s no different with birds in the sky,” I gush about our VesslScope-AV.

The electronic locator onboard the Snow Leopard originated from our maritime radar system, VesslScope. AV is the aviation version of it.

“I meant it when I said I wanted higher res and faster transmissions,” Adler maintains.

We make our way down the tarmac toward the facility’s main building.

“You still look good in sage,” the general comments on my overalls.

“Always, sir,” I reply as my fingers discreetly plump up my helmet-flattened hair.

Adler then rubs his chin, looking at me with a narrowed gaze. “Hey, between you and me. Keep an eye on Fletcher,” he says.

Donovan Fletcher—a man with an ass bigger than the moon. He was our competitor when the military put this project out to tender.

That stray cat thought the deal was in the bag for him. He’s never been a gracious loser, and when Hartley Marine was awarded the contract, he immediately claimed collusion and corruption. Of course, it helps to know people in high places. That’s just the nature of business. But Hartley Marine won the contract fair and square. Adler was one of the many heads we had to convince we were the men for the job. Fletcher might own one of the largest software companies in the country, but the Coast Guard is their ceiling. They’re not cut out for the real sea-sky business.

“What’s up with Fletcher?” I ask.

“He’s been seeking a partner.”

“Are you warning me of a potential new threat?”

“I’m not your business advisor, Hartley.” We take an elevator up. “I’m not warning you, but I have been warning the CIA. Fletcher is seeking partnerships in Southeast Asia. It could be a matter of national security.”

I purse my lips. By Southeast Asia, I know Adler implies China. Fletcher Tech’s financials have been up and down, and perhaps finding a partner in Asia wouldn’t be such a bad move.

“Even Chinese technology is better than Fletcher’s,” I remark.

“His technology may be a few years behind, but in the wrong hands, it might create unnecessary fire. We don’t want another surveillance balloon flying over Montana, do we?” he says as he walks me to the last elevator up. “Just let me know if you hear anything.”

Getting out of the secret basement seems to be the cue for him to lighten the conversation. “How’s Rob?” he asks about my brother.

“He has his hands full.”

“How old is his boy now?”

“Three. And they’re almost there with their second pregnancy.”

“Phew! A handful, all right. Well, send my regards, will you?” Adler shakes my hand again. “So, what’s next for you?”

“A vacation.”

“Clayton Hartley is taking a vacation?”

“Work hard, play hard, General,” I babble as he commands an officer to escort me out.

Adler laughs briefly, studying me as if trying to guess my travel itinerary. “The Caribbean? Spending money on overpriced cocktails? Working on your tan? Not that you need it.” He glances at my rolled-up sleeve. “Perhaps falling in love, too?”

That was a high-ranking way of saying getting laid.

“You know I don’t do love,” I quip.

“Bullshit, Clay.”

“Kenya! I’m going to Kenya.”

“No kidding!”

“I don’t do love.” I wave at him and then give him a salute.

***

Oltepesi, Kenya

When I said I don’t do love, I really meant romance. I have a heart, and I know how to love. Otherwise, I couldn’t call myself a Hartley.

So far, though, knowing how to love and facing reality haven’t quite married up. I used to put my heart out in the open—being accessible, vulnerable, and all that. I pursued women I was attracted to like they were all my soulmates. And I would try to please them, be the man they dreamed of. God witnessed it all. I tried. But when heartbreak was all you got in the end, you learned.

Nowadays, my heart is nowhere near a woman. It’s with those happy faces I see coming to me.

“Clayton!” The students of Elimu Primary School flock toward me, some jumping onto my shoulders when I bend down to hug them. Those watching us laugh, especially when my ebony fringe gets messed up—I must look like a wildebeest having a bad hair day.

“You see our field?” A girl points at the newly completed sports field. I remember her. Her name is Durah. She’d told me it means pearl.

I clear the hair off my face. “I see that,” I respond, watching her friends playing a game of soccer on a proper surface, with a ball that is a perfect sphere and made of quality material that will last multiple matches.

That is where my love goes. And these beaming children surrounding me—they are where my love goes.

The owner, Mrs. Nkasiogi Makena, fondly known as Mrs. Mac, has officially called the sports field Faber Park. Faber—I share that middle name with my grandfather, who was a gifted athlete and an officer in the military intelligence service during World War II. I like to think the park is named after him. At the same time, having part of me trampled by kids’ happy feet playing the sports they love—I’m humbled.

Oltepesi is forty miles southwest of the capital Nairobi. It’s known for being a tourist hot spot for Maasai Mara camps, but the real life of the people remains obscure to most foreigners.

I got to know Mrs. Mac on my first trip to the country. Having had enough of following a tour at the time, I ventured out by myself and got into trouble when my rental Jeep ended up in a ditch. Apparently, the pothole I accidentally drove through was a trap set by local thieves. When I saw a lady in her sixties charging at me with an AK rifle in her hand, I’d been convinced I was about to die. But then she reached a hand out to me.

“Come with me if you want to live!” she said, quoting Terminator in her thick Kenyan accent. Since then, we’ve become good friends.

“Great to see you again, Clayton,” Mrs. Mac shakes my hand after she’s sent the kids away. Behind her, the kids disperse to all corners of the schoolyard. She flashes her trademark grin, creasing her full cheeks. Her grandmotherly hug soon follows.

“You’ve done it, Mrs. Mac,” I praise.

“Yeah. We still have some funds left, which I’m going to use to build two more classrooms.”

“Excellent.”

Mrs. Mac ushers me to the school’s assembly hall, where a full traditional Mara buffet awaits. Music and dances accompany our lunch—a perfect start to my vacation. I then accept a hoop-off challenge from a couple of teachers, christening our new basketball court. Following my defeat, I say goodbye to the teachers and kids.

“If you need anything, just call me, okay? I mean it,” I tell Mrs. Mac as she walks me to my car. “I haven’t received enough calls from you.”

She grins, a pondering grin. “Clayton, when we first met, you were a silly blue-eyed kid trying to scramble out of trouble,” she reminisces, no doubt referring to the moment she found me covered in mud, climbing out of a ditch that fateful afternoon. “But you turned out good.”

Her last comment somehow exposes a deep crack in me. I turned out good, but why am I still alone?

My lips twitch. I despise that thought. Being single is an absurd barometer to measure one’s lack of goodness. But I had tasted togetherness and, supposedly, love. At the time, I told myself a man without love is a man made of ice.

Now I am that man.

Mrs. Mac nods thoughtfully, then says, “I hope you make time to explore the country properly this time.”

I blink away my arctic thought, burying the crevasse I never thought would surface during an African holiday. “I’m off to Samburu.”

“Nice. I heard the lion population is on the rise there.”

“Perfect.”

Nairobi airport is jam-packed and as chaotic as usual. I’m not surprised to find that my flight has been delayed. They’re still weighing our bags.

Two women rush in, barely tugging their luggage. Why are they reminding me of the Hilton sisters in the nineties? Heels? You’re wearing heels to a safari?

As they run, one of their suitcases loses its wheel. The immobilized trunk tugs the woman back, and she falls.

“Jesus, Nance!” her friend gasps.

I get up and approach them. “Ladies, can I help you?”

The fallen girl mouths a yes, but nothing comes out. I give her a hand.

She takes it and hauls herself up. “Thank you.”

“Come, I’ll take care of that bag.” I carry the damaged suitcase. Jesus, what’s in it? “You’re not in the ivory trade, are you?”

The two ladies chuckle at me.

“Thank you, sir,” the one owning the suitcase replies. “Is this the flight to Samburu?”

“Yes.”

“God, so we’re not late?” the other asks.

“You would’ve been, but it’s your lucky day. They’re running way behind schedule,” I explain as I lead them to the guy who checked me in earlier. “I’m sure this gentleman will take care of you. Ladies.” I nod my goodbye.

An hour later, our flight departs. It’s a Cessna Caravan, and it’s full.

The two ladies sit in the row beside me. With their shiny blonde hair and orange bra tops, it’s almost impossible for my peripheral not to catch their movements and occasional glances.

Seeing how comfortable they look in their scanty attire, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ll be wearing something similar during the safari. Someone didn’t get the memo. No doubt the sand that will cling to their skin isn’t the kind of paradise touch they’re looking for. Besides, they’ll soon find out how ferocious the mosquitoes are, especially along the river. They’d better have brought some bug spray, and I hope they’re taking antimalarials too.

The women are attractive, and I was happy to lend a hand earlier. But to my eyes and my heart, they’re no different than the family of four behind them or the old couple in front of me.

Halfway through our flight, the sky turns gray. We’re heading straight into a thunderstorm. This should be routine for experienced pilots, but something isn’t right. Passengers start gasping and whining—not over the weather, but over the limp body of the pilot.

I scan the cabin, yelling, “Is there a doctor here?”

A man sitting in the backseat answers, “Yeah.” He looks to be a local guy.

“Help me out, man!” I remove my seatbelt and grab hold of the pilot’s chair backrest to keep my balance. The co-pilot is frantically calling air traffic control for help.

The storm is starting to give the plane a shake. The doctor arrives behind me after struggling to navigate to the front. “Lie him here.” He points to the narrow aisle, holding on to the cockpit partition. “Heart attack, likely.”

The plane shudders as it rides on a strong current.

“Whoa!” I yell to the co-pilot as I peer into the sky ahead. This isn’t a thunderstorm, it’s a friggin’ supercell, and we shouldn’t fly through it at all—let alone with a frightened man at the helm.

“We’ve got to turn around!” I tell the young pilot.

“We’re close. Doctors will be there waiting for us in Samburu.”

“Turn around!” I insist. I’d head into a formation of enemy fighters anytime, but not this nasty weather band. Whoever let this flight take off was insane!

“Go back to your seat, sir!” the co-pilot shouts.

The plane goes into a nosedive following a lightning strike. The engine light comes on, and the cabin fills with screams and cries.

“Reduce power,” I command.

“Are you crazy?” He trembles.

“Cut the power. We need to slow down before you level the wings,” I guide him.

He listens to my advice, and the plane slows, although we’re still diving. He then nods at the empty pilot seat. “Well, don’t just talk!”

I jump into it, then gently pull back the control column to raise the plane’s nose. The aircraft steadies, and we gradually gain back altitude.

“Doc, how’s the captain?” I glance back into the cabin.

“He’s breathing,” the doctor replies.

“Take a seat! Strap him and yourself up. It’s gonna be rough.”

For a good half hour, we’re in constant turbulence. People have stopped screaming, though several are puking instead.

“We’ve got this,” I assure my co-pilot despite the engine failing.

By now, he seems to have gathered his composure, alerting ‘May Day’ to air traffic control and communicating our intention.

“We’re landing soon. Hang on!” I yell.

This is no Snow Leopard, and I’m not in contested airspace, but my blood thickens like I’m in battle. I have lives depending on me.

Our altitude drops faster than I’m comfortable with, but anything is better than free-falling.

“Brace, everyone! Brace!” the co-pilot shouts as I take the Cessna to the ground.

A thump draws gasps from the passengers. It’s almost a dead-stick landing, but we’ve arrived in one piece.

Soon, fire engines swarm the plane.

“Everyone okay?” I yell.

Among the cries, I hear ‘yes’ from most people.

“Shit…” the co-pilot breathes when we’ve come to a complete stop. “Who are you?”

“Clayton Hartley. Former US Air Force.” I hate to say former, but I never pretend to be something I’m not.

“I guess no flying school will teach you that.”

I pat his shoulder. I’ve known a few Kenyan pilots, and they’re some of the best in the world. I mean, bush planes are bread and butter for many of them. This kid has skills. He just needs to learn to make better decisions.

We then help everyone disembark, starting with the almost incapacitated pilot. Ambulances and paramedics gather on the tarmac.

The two ladies run to me, throwing me a relieved hug. “Thank you.”

I pat their backs lightly. Curiously, they appear to be the least shaken out of anyone.

“Hey, you never said your name,” one of them states as I rush away.

I smile slightly. “Met.”

My callsign was Mettle—awarded to me for the guts to keep flying with a damaged engine in my first combat training.

After giving my statement to the authorities, I decide to stay in the city. I’ve got to find something that doesn’t involve flying. Not that I’m sick of being in the air. I just can’t take another day of drama.


--- Thank you for reading the excerpt of Cherish Me Forever ---

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If you haven't read the first book in the series, Hold Me Forever, buy it and set sail on an emotional voyage today! Free with Kindle Unlimited.

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Cherish Me Forever cover reveal is here

"I’ve flown high, I’ve roamed wide, but I’ve never found another person whom I love more than you." - Clayton Faber Hartley

Hello, lovely readers.

The cover of Cherish Me Forever is here, and I'm in love.

Cherish Me Forever is the spicy second book in the Hartley Brothers romantic suspense series.

A single mother fighting to survive. A wary bachelor billionaire. When unexpected love comes within their grasp, can they learn to trust before it’s ripped away?



I hope you love the cover as much as I do. A little bit about the art:

♥ The sky

The color purple resembles strength and transformation. As a pilot, the sky is Clayton's domain. And in this cover, it also symbolizes the trials and triumphs he and Isabelle share together.

♥ The earring

Kate Winslet has the 'Heart of The Ocean' necklace in Titanic. Isabelle has her earrings which lead to the couple's first touch. Go on, let your imagination take over and create your own scene here. 😍

I will reveal the first two chapters of Cherish Me Forever next week. So watch your inbox. 💜

To our heroes,
Alessa

Preorder Cherish Me Forever today! Free with Kindle Unlimited.

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