Hi there! Thank you for having me on your blog today!
I will admit I was at a loss at what to write for this blog post. Just as I started banging my head on the keyboard in frustration, I was offered a proposition. By a tall, dark, sinfully sexy, rich Irishman. Unfortunately it wasn’t that kind of proposition. It was Sloan O’Riley, the hero of my Black Irish series, and he offered himself to be interviewed. He thought that you readers (especially the ladies) would appreciate getting to know him more…intimately.
Now, I know Sloan too well. I’m not about to interview him. He knows that I fall for his charms at the drop of a hat. I searched for the perfect person to talk to him and found her. A Marine. One married to an MMA fighter. Here’s what happened when Sloan sat down with Avery Choate from Breaking the Silence (Hard Drive #2)…
Avery: (sitting in a chair) Good evening, Sloan.
Sloan: (sits in chair. Stretches his long legs out in front of him. Lets his ice blue eyes wander over Avery then grins) Hello, lass. So you’re the one Tricia let interview me?
Avery: You’re here. I’m here. So I guess that’s a yes.
Sloan: (turning away to find me) I enjoy your choice, Tricia.
Sloan: (turning back to her) Pardon?
Avery: I’m deaf. I read lips. Look at me for the rest of the interview please.
Sloan: A little demanding, aren’t you? I like strong women.
Avery: (not looking amused) Tricia warned me about you. Tell me about yourself.
Sloan: I’m rich. I own Sloan Enterprises. I’m from Belfast, Northern Ireland. I have other deep dark secrets I would love to share with you in a more…private setting.
Avery: And your wife, Abbey, would approve of that?
Sloan: I love my wife. I wouldn’t do anything to betray her. But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate (motions towards Avery) the beautiful scenery.
Avery: (definitely not amused) Really.
Sloan: Of course. You are in fantastic shape. You’re a member of that gym, Hard Drive, right? In Minneapolis? Sloan Enterprises is in Minneapolis also. I may just have to come join you.
Avery: Yes. I work out at Hard Drive. With my husband.
Sloan: Rico’s no match for me.
Avery: Beg to differ.
Sloan: Want to wager?
Avery: Why doesn’t Tricia just kill you off in the next book?
Sloan: Because she loves me. Why doesn’t she kill you off? Or better yet, your beloved husband?
Avery: (grinning) Because she loves Rico more than you.
Sloan: Does not. Do you, Tricia?
Me (how’d I get roped into this conversation???): I don’t play favorites, Sloan. But if I did I’d have bad news. I have a new book boyfriend. His name is Reese Cooper and everyone will have to check him out at Secret Cravings Publishing this fall. And Avery might be right. Rico doesn’t brood when I need him to talk to me. And what was that Fifty Shades threat you gave me last week?
Sloan: Wait…what? You love them both more than me? Since when?
Avery: Sloan, what’s the name of your newest book?
Sloan: (clearly distracted) The Assassin.
Avery: Where can readers find it?
Sloan: Sweet Cravings Publishing and where all fine e-books are sold.
Avery: Great. Thank you for your time. (Stands, leaving a baffled Sloan still looking around. Grumbles) That’s the last time I do a favor for Tricia. Non-negotiable.
Sloan: Hey, that’s my line!
The Assassin (Black Irish #5)
Release Date: May 25, 2015
Publisher: Sweet Cravings Publishing (www.sweetcravingspublishing.com)
Genre: Contemporary/Sports/Sweet Romance Novel
Can Sloan tame his raging jealousy or will it tear him from the woman he loves forever?
There’s trouble in paradise…Torn by jealousy, Sloan leaves Abbey behind to run Sloan Enterprises when the CIA sends him and Bartholomew on a secret mission looking for an arms dealer doing business out of an Army encampment in Afghanistan. The couple’s paths cross overseas and Abbey is ordered to join her husband on the mission. Tension flares between them in the hot Afghani sun fueled by the camp’s commanding officer hell bent on turning the two against each other. Can Sloan overcome his emotions long enough to find the smuggler or will his raging jealousy tear him from the woman he loves…forever?
Sloan looked down, locking eyes with his wife. She took his breath away. Her brown locks were pinned up on top of her head and cascading down around her shoulders in curls. Her body was wrapped in a silver evening gown that fell to a matching pair of silver stilettos and hugged her curves just the way he liked.
She held his gaze for a moment before offering a hand to Angelique. “My name is Abbey O’Riley.”
“O’Riley?” Angelique questioned.
“Yes, O’Riley. And you can tell by my accent that I’m American so, needless to say, we’re not blood relatives. So please take your hands off my husband.”
“Husband?” Angelique screeched.
“Yes, darling. Husband. As in the father of my children. Three of them.”
Sloan watched Abbey as she glanced up at those gathering. Sloan followed her gaze to find the other women he had slept with surrounding them.
A smug, satisfied grin spread across his wife’s lips. “Actually, I need to thank you, Angelique. And the rest of you. Had you not treated Sloan like a toy you could play with then throw away, he never would have learned to despise women. He never would have come to New York and met me, and we never would have fallen in love and had our family. He’d still be here in Prague. So, thank you, Angelique. Thank you for being the selfish, gold-digging monster that you are and sending me the love of my life.”
“Monster?” Angelique protested.
“Well, I can think of other names to call you. But I’m a mommy, and we don’t say such things.”
Angelique looked up to Sloan with a pleading expression. “Sloan, my love. Tell this thing to go away and leave us alone.”
“I can’t. She’s telling the truth. This is my wife, Abbey. I fell madly in love with her when I met her in New York.”
Angelique’s sweet expression of adoration melted away as she slipped her hands from his arm. She shot Abbey one last look of disgust before stomping away with the other women. Sloan did notice each of them eyeing him intently. Not the scrawny lad you used to know, am I?
Abbey sashayed to him with a big grin. “I don’t think your old girlfriend likes me much.”
“Impressive, luv,” Sloan complimented. “But I was supposed to get the key to the lockbox from her.”
“You mean this key?” Abbey held up the key on a plain, rusty chain that she had clenched in her fist.
Sloan took it from her and studied it. “Abigail, how…?”
“I slipped it from her little handbag while she was pawing you.”
“You are brilliant, luv.”
Abbey wrapped her arm around his. “How about a drink before we go?”
“An excellent idea.” Sloan escorted her to the bar and ordered a whiskey and a glass of wine. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the room burning him. The whole place had witnessed Abbey’s scene. He chuckled as he took a sip. He didn’t care. He stood by what he had stated before. His woman was simply brilliant.
The others met up with them at the bar, chatting and laughing together. Once they finished, they made their way from the ballroom to the van waiting for them outside. Sloan helped Abbey into the vehicle before following her. Inside, each member of the team changed into dark clothing as they moved to their next destination.
Thin slivers of moonlight cut across the marble floor of the bank. Four dark shadows briefly slit the beams as they prowled through the building.
“Do you know where you’re going?” a voice through each earpiece questioned.
“Yes, Gordon,” Sloan answered, as he concentrated his focus in front of him. “Twenty paces ahead is the gate to the vault.”
“Abbey, are you in place?”
“Yes, sir,” she chirped.
“Luv, can you even see the lock?” Sloan queried.
“It’s in my scope. No worries. Give me the signal, and I’ll blow it open.”
The muffled shot was followed by a soft whistle. Metal ripping apart echoed through the silent space. Sloan motioned to Robert, Bartholomew, and Logan to follow him as they rushed through the now-open gate. “Abbey, meet us outside,” he ordered.
“Will do,” Abbey agreed. “It might take me that long to get out of these rafters.”
“Sloan, the alarm is disabled for two more minutes. Get that stick and get out,” Gordon demanded.
“Yes, sir.” Sloan shuffled into the vault, with the others following. He glanced at his partners then nodded toward the gate. “Cover me.”
“Sure thing,” Robert answered. The three men stood sentry as Sloan ventured deeper.
Searching each of the brass tags on the boxes, he stopped and smiled. “Number seventy-three,” Sloan crooned softly to himself. He stepped back then dug in his pocket. Pulling free the key that Abbey had lifted off Angelique, he slipped it into the lock and turned it clockwise. He tore open the door, analyzing the contents. Reaching in, he grasped the USB stick then spun on his heel. “I have the stick. Everyone out.”
“I’m covering the door. There’s a patrol officer outside,” Logan reported.
Sloan could hear Robert curse over the earpiece followed by the sound of a chamber of a rifle opening. “Abbey, what are you doing?”
“I don’t kill, Sloan.”
“I know that. What are you doing?” Sloan demanded.
He heard the chamber lock again then another muffled shot. “Sleep tight, sweet prince. Coast is clear. Let’s go.”
“Sloan, you have fifteen seconds. Move,” Gordon warned. “Fourteen…thirteen…”
The four men ran across the bank lobby for the exit as Gordon kept counting down. They found it slightly propped open with Abbey’s body. She pried it apart farther as they passed through. Sloan grasped her hand and tugged her with him, slamming the door shut.
Gordon’s voice softly spoke through their earpieces, “One. Good job all. Get to the airport and come home.”
Abbey studied the display in front of her as she cradled a cup of coffee in her hands. She had been staring at one screen after another since four o’clock that morning. She nibbled at an apple and banana when she had a moment. Finding Torelli was far more important. She watched the soldiers around her compute the information they had on hand.
Shortly after her interview at the CIA headquarters in Langley, they had moved her to Fort McNair. Here, they could leave immediately if they got a location on Torelli. Plus, Abbey was sure the CIA wouldn’t appreciate her using their office for rifle practice.
Agent Dunham approached her with a chuckle. She gave him a half-smile. “What’s so funny?” she asked.
Dunham put his phone on speaker for her to listen. The voice of a very irritated Irishman blared out, demanding to be let in. Abbey sighed.
“You knew he’d be coming,” Dunham reminded her.
“Yes. I suspected he would. I would have liked to find Torelli first though.”
Dunham turned as the gate guard pleaded for orders. He laughed again as he took the cell off speaker and held it to his ear. “Let Mr. O’Riley and Mr. Evans in. Show them to their barracks and then bring them here. And make sure they are officer barracks, please.”
Dunham hung up his phone and slipped it in his pocket. He patted Abbey on the shoulder. “Only a matter of time. Good luck.”
“Thanks.” Abbey turned back to the screen ahead of her, scrutinizing the lines across the world map indicating the confirmed paths Torelli and the weapons had taken.
Abbey knew he was there before he said a word. The dominating presence, the electricity his body gave off, sent shivers through her. Her heartbeat sped up, not from fear, but sweet anticipation. It was how her body reacted around the Irishman.
“I thought I said we were done with this,” Sloan warned. “Dunham showing us to barracks was pointless. We’re going home immediately.”
Abbey took a deep breath to settle her quaking nerves then spun to face her husband. “I don’t think so. Thank you for checking on me. You can go home now.”
“Like hell I am!” Sloan roared.
“Then grab a file and help.”
Sloan took hold of her arm and pulled her against him. Abbey sucked in her breath. The sensation of his body against hers set her on fire. It was difficult for her to keep her bravado.
“What is it going to take to get through that thick skull of yours, Abigail?” His brogue was pure silk.
“Whatever it is, you don’t have it, Sloan.”
“Are you sure of that, little girl?” Sloan scooped Abbey into his arms and tossed her over his shoulder like a rag doll. Without another word, he spun on his heel and stormed from the control center.
Abbey kicked her feet the best she could as she pounded her fists on his back. “Let me down!” she screamed.
Her protests were met with a firm swat on the rear. “Quiet,” Sloan ordered.
Abbey was furious as she glanced around at the soldiers witnessing the scene. “How dare you show up here—”
Another smack. “That’s for taking off and worrying the entire family.”
Warmth radiated across her rump. “Put me down!”
She squealed a little at the next spanking. “That’s for making me chase you halfway across the country.”
“I didn’t ask you to follow—”
She yelped as he slapped her behind once again. “That’s for disobeying a commanding officer. I told you to be quiet. And believe it or not, Abigail, I am your commanding officer in whatever faction we belong to.”
Abbey swallowed back a sob. Between the embarrassment of being disciplined in front of half of the camp and her now blistering backside, tears burned her eyes. She went limp over his shoulder as he stormed into his barracks, not stopping until he reached his bedroom. He gently laid her on his bed then stretched out beside her.
Sloan’s mouth trailed over her cheek, gently kissing the tears away. “This is for losing you. This is for collapsing at your gravestone and realizing I would never look into your eyes again, or kiss your lips, or make love to you. This is for listening to your confession on your knees on that ridge in Afghanistan. Abbey, baby, forgive me for what I’ve done. Please.”
Sloan’s wandering lips set Abbey’s nerves ablaze. She shuddered as his strong hand tenderly massaged her wounded rear. She turned against him, capturing his mouth with hers, slipping her tongue between his lips to tangle with his. She heard him moan in surrender.
She struggled to tug her T-shirt off. Once she accomplished it, she tossed the fabric on the floor then unzipped her pants. “Please, Sloan.”
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Tricia Andersen lives in Iowa with her husband, Brian and her three children – her sons, Jake and Jon, and her daughter, Alex. She graduated from the University of Iowa with a Bachelor of Arts in English and from Kirkwood Community College with an Associate of Arts degree in Communications Media/Public Relations. Along with writing (which she loves to do), Tricia practices mixed martial arts, coaches and participates in track and field, reads, sews and is involved in many of her children's activities.