
Title: Hitting Black Ice
Series: Heart and Haven, Book One
Author: Heloise West
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: August 19. 2019
Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 75100
Genre: Contemporary, LGBT, FBI, double agents, action/suspense, medical profession, contemporary, action, suspense, theft, gay

Synopsis
Shawn is on the run from the law and love, to protect himself and anyone else involved. Until he meets Hunter, and he no longer wants to run.
ER physicianās assistant Hunter guards his heart carefully, but that doesnāt stop him from falling for the temp front desk clerk. He keeps his distance from relationships for a good reason but just canāt help himself when it comes to Shawn.
Forced into a hostage situation, buried passions explode in the aftermath, and sex in the supply closet brings both their hearts back to life. But as they explore their relationship, the past catches up with Shawn.
FBI agent Nick Truman has finally found his man, and when Shawn escapes, he focuses his attention on Hunter. Will Shawn sacrifice himself to save Hunter from the man who framed him for murder?
Excerpt
Hitting Black Ice
Heloise West Ā© 2019
All Rights Reserved
Hunter had a crush, a big one.
In the cafeteria late one night on his break at the hospital, he sipped at a coffee and focused on Shawn, the night desk clerk for the ER, sitting a few tables over. With long black hair tied back neatly and eyes of faded denim blue, Shawn had a lean body, his face long and bony. Tonight, he wore a brown turtleneck under a white-and-green-striped button-down. The rolled sleeves revealed muscled forearms dusted with golden hair, as mismatched to the dyed black hair as his pale eyebrows and lashes. A silver skull ring and silver studs in his ears appeared at odds with the lanyard and dangling ID card.
Hunter drank more coffee, barely tasting it. Heād tried to talk himself out of it, but he couldnāt squirm away from the attraction. When heād walked past the registration desk to the water coolerāagaināor hung out there a moment too long with an empty clipboard in his hands, he caught those tiny flicks of interest in Shawnās eyes. Hunter must have given away his interest, because the nurses smirked at his pretended obliviousness.
He bent to the not-very-engrossing crossword in the newspaper, imagining what tattoo might lie beneath Shawnās cool demeanor. Maybe gargoyle wings across a broad and muscled back, or a snake wrapped around his thigh. Something more esotericāa phrase in Latin, like Hunterās own primum non nocere, or a bit of wisdom in Chinese characters. Or an old-school Aerosmith tat? Hunter glanced up from filling in the little squares with black ink blocks. He could have sworn Shawn hurriedly dropped his attention down to the paperback in his hands. He turned the page and shot a second glance at Hunter. Gazes locked and jumped away.
Shit!
Heat rushed through Hunter all at once and climbed up to his face. Too aware of the black-haired man with biceps to die for and long legs toāwell, never mind. Taking a boner back to the ER was not a good idea.
He had touched those biceps once when he gave Shawn a flu shot back in the fall. Shawn had taken the needle without a flinch.
Shawn stood with his tray in hand and walked toward the trash container behind Hunter. The back of his neck prickled as if Shawn breathed on the little hairs there. Hunter picked up his coffee cup once more but tasted only the dregs.
Good thing heād decided to become a physicianās assistant and not an actor. He didnāt talk to Shawn unless he had to, the worst giveaway of all. No shy bones in his body, yet he feared conversation led to more conversation, to flirting, and the next thing he knew, theyād be going on a date, Hunter falling head over heels, and then the assholeā
Stop. You know how the story ends.
Behind him, Shawn cleared his throat. Hunter didnāt turn around. Shawn returned to his seat, picked up the paperback, and slumped down into the chair with a scowl.
Marisa slipped into the seat across the table from Hunter, and he smiled.
āIām onto you,ā she whispered.
āUh-huh.ā Hunter moved his body slightly so he could still see Shawn around her.
āYouāve been taking late lunch for three weeks now. I know whyāor who.ā She smiled, a small Hispanic woman with curly chestnut hair framing her heart-shaped face and hazel eyes. If Hunter werenāt himself, and she werenāt married, he thought heād be with her. Her lips always gleamed with gloss, and her eyes snapped with fire when she got pissy. He loved it, most days, even when she aimed for him.
She leaned toward him. āShawn, right?ā Her eyes took on a warning snap now and dared him to contradict her.
āI donāt even know if heās gay.ā Which wasnāt true, but he knew better than to deny it to her face.
She sipped at her coffee with her gaze on him. Her mouth left lipstick smiles on the rim of the cup. āThereās something different about this one. And heās lovely to look at.ā
āLovely.ā Hunter snorted. Dead sexy Shawn. Hunter spied him out at the clubs twice now but avoided him there too. Shawn undulated like liquid fire across the dance floor.
āTalk to him, honey.ā
āPlease. Donāt.ā He must have spoken louder than he meant to. Shawn glanced at them and away again.
āYouāre letting Jerryās death run your life.ā
Hunter slapped the magazine down. āIām too sober for this conversation.ā
āItās like heās locked your heart away.ā
Mindful of the potential audience, he lowered his voice. āYouāre jumping way ahead here.ā
She shook her head. āI know you. You have so much love to give, and I hate to see you suffer.ā
Her probing questions about Hunterās past, family, present situation were all familiar ground. Friendship he could manage; he recognized it when it was offered to him. Heād been out since he was nine. Always been out was what he told people. She was one of the few friends to whom he could confide nearly everything. Jerryās addictions had killed him, but his family and friends blamed Hunter, and on a deeper emotional level, he blamed himself too. Marisa knew this, and it worried her. She wanted him to find love and move on, be part of a couple. She knew, but she didnāt understand.
He wasnāt abstinent now, not at twenty-five, and never got involved with anyone beyond one- and two-night stands. Hunter didnāt want to take responsibility for another heart.
When the tide of emotion and memory washed through him and left him able to speak again, he said, āIām not suffering here.ā He kept much of the darkness at bay with whiskey and anonymous sex. Who needed Prozac with a warm, muscled body in the bed?
āStagnating,ā Marisa said.
āMaintaining.ā It had been a far prettier day in May, eight months ago now, when he walked out of the ER at Boston General to Jerry waiting for him in the parking lot with a gun.
āAsk him out on a date. An old-fashioned date where, at the end of the night, you kiss him good night.ā
āNo!ā
āDonāt get angry.ā She patted his hand.
He whipped it away. āToo late.ā
Marisa sighed. āIāll make it up to you. Toni, Anna, and I are going to Twisters tonight. Iāll buy you a drink.ā
Hunter gathered up his tray. He liked the ER crowd. They always had fun when they got together in off-work hours, and he agreed to meet her at Twisters before hitting the clubs.
When his shift was over early in the morning, he drove back to his apartment and crawled into bed as the day glowed behind the blackout curtains. The end of the week had left him exhausted, and his sleep was blessedly dreamless.
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Meet the Author
Heloise West, when not hunched over the keyboard plotting love and mayhem, dreams about moving to a villa in Tuscany. She loves history, mysteries, and romance. She travels and gardens with her partner of fifteen years, and their home overflows with books, cats, art, and red wine. Find Heloise on Facebook
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