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J.T. Geissinger
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Tough, smart, and seriously ambitious, reporter Jacqueline "Jack" Dolan despises the secretive clan of shape-shifters known as the Ikati—and has become determined to destroy them. After she writes an editorial arguing for their extermination and turns public opinion against them, the Ikati vow to fight back. They plot to send one of their own to seduce the reporter, then blackmail her into writing a retraction.

Women practically fall at the feet of hulking, handsome Hawk Luna, and Hawk relishes the idea of conquering and destroying the fiery redhead who's caused so much trouble for his kind. The last thing he expects is to develop real feelings for her, but their liaison awakens a hunger in him that he cannot deny. He kidnaps Jack and brings her to his Amazon jungle colony, but the two lovers are soon embroiled in deadly colony politics and threatened by a looming global species war.

As the danger around them grows closer, Jack and Hawk's forbidden passion may build a bridge between two ancient enemies—or cost them both their lives.

Excerpt

He made his way through the crowded, smoky bar, walking slowly and with ease, seemingly oblivious to the craned necks, stares and whispers that followed in his wake. Even the men were affected by him, puffing out their chests and raising their chins, posing and strutting as peacocks, trying to compete.

As if a single one could. The instant she thought it, their eyes met. Another of his slow, lazy smiles lit his face.

To her horror, a flood of heat and moisture throbbed between her legs.

The urge to run away became almost overwhelming, but she steeled herself against it, because there was no way she was going to allow him—or her own, traitorous body—to intimidate her.

He slid into the booth, taking a seat across from her, stretched his long legs out and crossed them at the ankle, resting them on her side of the booth, effectively blocking her exit. They stared at one another for a long moment in silence, sizing each other up.

As the band shifted into another song, Jack asked without an ounce of warmth, “You following me?”

“I was here first, remember?” Hawk’s lazy smile deepened. “Maybe you’re following me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not my type.”

He leaned across the table, clasped his big hands together on the scarred wood tabletop, stared deep into her eyes and murmured, “Tell that to your wet panties.”

5th in Night Prowler paranormal romance kicks butt and takes names

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