In USA Today bestselling author Tina Wainscott's gritty, emotional small-town romance Falling Hard, passions run high as a reformed bad boy reconnects with an old enemy...and gets her engine revving. In Laura Marie Altom's tale of forbidden love, Stepping Over the Line, meet two tortured souls with an unbreakable bond. Then comes a tender military romance from Serena Bell, USA Today bestselling author of Hold on Tight, in which a war-shattered veteran gets a second chance at love with the one that got away in Can't Hold Back.

Writing duo MJ Fields and Chelsea Camaron release another sizzling-hot Caldwell Brothers story-Morrison, which hits the Vegas strip as a bad-boy gambler from Detroit Rock City shows a single mom what it means to play for keeps. Then it's off to Los Angeles where Hollywood's hottest young actor hits the road to chase his big break-and discovers a leading lady where he least expects in Cassie Mae's No Interest in Love.

I can't believe 2016 is upon us, can you? Thank you for spending your reading time with Loveswept, and we hope to entertain you all over again in the new year.

Happy Romance!.

Gina Wachtel.

Associate Publisher.

Read on for an excerpt from.

After We Fall.

by Marquita Valentine.

Available from Loveswept.

Chapter 1.

Hunter.

It's been six months since I last spoke to her. One hundred and eighty days since I last saw her battered and bruised face. Four thousand, three hundred and twenty hours since I last touched her vulnerable body. Not that I'm counting. I shouldn't count. I shouldn't think of her at all.

Yet...

Over the years, I've escorted countless women to shelters, but none has affected me on the damn level as she did. Not a single one. I can't get her out of my head. Can't stop wondering if she's safe, if she's back with her sadistic husband, or if she's lying dead on the side of the road.

It's where she was found the first time. Shuffling down the beltline, no shoes, torn clothes. An extra from The Walking Dead looked better than she did. Had less blood on them too.

Exhaling thickly as I get out of my truck, I head inside the bar where I'm meeting my partner for drinks. We've had a hell of a shift today, and a beer or two is calling our names.

Why this woman? I don't get it. I really don't, and it's not like I haven't had the opportunity to get her out of my head, because I have. Believe me, I have. A lot of women dig the cop uniform. The cuffs, too.

Only for the past six months, I've said no. I guess you could call it a form of self-imposed celibacy. In any case, I'm not buying what they're offering. On one hand, it sucks to not be into any other women, but I'm twenty-eight-years old-hardly some punk with a raging boner and a drive to stick it into anything willingly standing still.

"The FNG is here," Rollins shouts and I inwardly groan. Why in the hell did Dwight have to invite him. I can't stand that dude, or his nickname for me.

Fucking New Guy. I haven't been the FNG for ten years, not since I first joined straight out of high school. But since I did a lateral transfer from Forrestville's Police Department to the city of Charlotte PD's Family Victims Unit, I've been called nothing else by him. All because he was hired a day before me. Other than that, we have exactly the same amount of time in.

Shooting Dwight a glare, I join them at the back of the room. Dwight already has a cold one waiting for me. "This helps."

"Not my choice, man," he whispers as I take the chair beside him. Our backs are against the wall and from our vantage point, we can see almost every patron.

MacAuley's is small, locally owned, and has the best beer selection around. Best of all, not many people knew about it...until lately, and Rollins sure as shit didn't drink here.

Until now.

"Who told him?" I ask, grabbing the mug and tipping it up.

Dwight shrugs. "He saw your text while I was in the can."

"Dude, I've told you about leaving your phone around," I mutter, switching to Spanish. Dwight understands more than he can speak, but since Rollins is barely fluent in English, I don't worry about him getting butthurt. "Now he knows about Mac's, we will never hear the end of it."

"What was I supposed to do?" Dwight asks softly. "Tell him it as a date for two?"

The music kicks on over the sound system and all chances of further conversation about Rollins ceases.

Rollins grins at the waitress who hurries to our table. "What's up, baby?"

Patricia gives him a look. Dwight and I have no problem calming Rollins's ass down if need be, but Patricia can't take care of herself. And to be fair, Rollins isn't a bad guy, just an annoying-as-fuck one.

"Ah, baby boy, who let you out of your pram?" she coos at him with an Irish accent as thick as the corned beef stew they serve. Patricia has lived in the States for twenty years, but that brogue of hers hasn't faded at all.

I bite back a grin. "How are you tonight, my bonnie lass?"

She hits my shoulder with her hip. "Don't be trying my patience, Hunter. I've not the time for you." A flirty wink accompanies her admonishment. Then she slides a plate of homemade nachos in front of Dwight and me.

Rollins reaches for the plate, but she smacks his hand away. "Hey!" he nearly shouts before turning to us. "You saw what she-"

"Didn't see anything."

"Me either."

"Thanks, Patricia." Dwight tips up his drink to her.

With a nod, she leaves the table.

"You two have dates here often?" Rollins says, snagging a loaded nacho.

I give him a meaningful look. "We did."

The door to the bar opens and automatically, my eyes go right to it. Tension floods my body. I don't think that will ever go away. I always expect the person walking in to be carrying. I always think that whomever I'm talking to is lying...until they prove otherwise.

When I catch sight of a familiar face, the tension begins to ease.

"I thought this was a bar for cops," Rollins complains.

"Shut up and eat," I order, and he digs in. Not for the first time, I wonder if he is purposefully irritating to get something he really wants and not what it looks like he wants.

"Walker," Dwight shouts, his hands cupped around his mouth. "Back here."

The fire captain for Station 52, Hayden Walker is a good guy. I've worked with him before on ride-alongs when he wanted to ease tensions between the PD and CFD after a brutal misunderstanding that got two civilians and a cop killed...and a firefighter brought up on charges. Hayden had been brought in from down east, from some hole in the way town near Wilmington, to play nice. Apparently, as a state senator's son, he has a gift for public relations.

"Hayden, good to see," I say, tipping up my chin at him.

He takes a seat across from me, unconcerned with who might be behind him. I can't fault him though. Hayden puts his life on the line, but people are usually glad to see his flashing lights. Or they are at least grateful.

"Thought I'd drop by and see if King's was on the menu tonight," he asks. A flash of his infamous smile makes more than a few heads turn at nearby tables. The women in here cannot keep their eyes off him. He's got that angel-face look combined with a devil-may-care attitude-women dig that more than cuffs.

"Not up for it tonight, but thanks," I say.

Hayden gives Dwight a meaningful look while Rollins continues to shove food in his face.

"You going for a world record?" Hayden asks.

"Al pescando y a la mujer, con los dedos ha de ser. In other words, I can't be too careful."

"If you were any more careful, you would...Oh, wait, you're not," Dwight says, then leans back in his chair. "Just come out with us."

"Is this a setup?" I look from my partner to my friend. "You didn't."

"They did, which is why I wanted to come," Rollins says around a mouthful of nacho. "Dwight leaves his phone where anyone can read it."

Hayden rolls his eyes, then taps the table. "Are we going?"

"Maybe another time." I stand. "Thanks for the beer and the company, but I got to see a dog about a playdate outside."

"At least Jake is getting some action."

I flip off Hayden, then head outside. They're not manwhores, or even indiscriminate about who they sleep with. They're good guys who happen to be single but not ready to settle down. However, neither of them know what's going on in my head. Not even Dwight.

They weren't there when I came on-scene. They didn't see her poor body or the way she clung to me and no one else when attempts were made to get her in the ambulance. They hadn't held her hand on the ride over. They hadn't stood to one side while she was inspected and photographed for evidence against the man who had beaten her.

But I was, and until I get her out of my head, no other woman will do.

- It's late when I get home, but since it's August, the sun hasn't completely set yet. Orange and yellow lights filter down through the huge leaves in the front yard. The small parking lot to the right of the building is filled for once. All six spots taken.

Looks like someone rented the last apartment available.

My apartment is one of six in a huge mansion from the early 1900s that was recently converted. It's quiet.

Just as I step onto the brick path that leads to the side entrance, I get a glimpse of a woman with light brown hair. For no logical reason, my heart speeds up. She's attempting to balance moving boxes while unlocking the door.

I jog over to her, while calling out, "Hey there. Need some help?"

"Gosh, yes," she says with a laugh that makes my groin tight. Now this is an improvement. I can't see her face, but if that laugh is enough to make me stand up and take notice...my imagination runs wild.

I help with the boxes and she thanks me by- "Hi, I'm Eva," she says, turning to face me. Her body freezes but only for a moment or two, but it's long enough for me to notice.

Besides, I'd recognize those gorgeous blue-green eyes anywhere. "I know who you are."

She scrunches her brow. "You do? I'm sorry that I can't say the same."

"Maybe I'm mistaken." Maybe the pope will get marriage tomorrow. Taking the boxes, I wait for her to open the door.

Another peal of laughter that has me rock hard in two-seconds flat leaves her mouth. "I have one of those faces. Last week, at the grocery store, someone mistook me for Scarlett Johansson. She's filming a movie here, so..."

The only thing the woman in front of me has in common with Scarlett Johansson is the fact that they are both female. I don't know why she's pretending like she doesn't know me, but what I do know...She's a damn liar.

The woman standing in front of me is Evangeline Ambrose, the same woman I haven't been able to get out of my head for months.

"What a coincidence, someone mistook me for her, too."

She blinks up at me, her mouth twitching at the corners, but she doesn't laugh again. I know it's because she see the serious look on my face. "You're not that pretty," she says, giving me a whole other side to her. One I like.

"Most women think I am," I say. What the hell has just left my mouth?

Walking in front of me, she leads the way to her apartment. "Good for them. You, too."

As she begins to ascend the stairs, my gaze goes right to her ass. The faded denim cups her just right at it stretches. "Lived here long?" I ask, trying to keep my thoughts aboveboard, or above her plump ass, anyway.

"Nope."

And that's all she says until we arrive at her apartment. If I weren't carrying these boxes, I have no doubt she would have run from me by now.

She stops in front of a light blue door and unlocks it, before turning to me. "I can take it from here."

"I'm happy to help you. It's in my job description."

Her lips part, and the urge to kiss her rides me hard. She's so damn pretty. So delicate. What man in their right mind would ever try to harm someone so much smaller than themselves?

A man like your father, that's who, I remind myself.

"You're the manager?" she asks with false cheerfulness. "How nice."

I can't believe she's going to continue this lie. I know it's a lie. She knows it's a lie and she has to know I know it's a lie. "Nope," I reply, hoping that my answer grates on her nerves as much as hers did mine. "Not the manager."

She nods, opening the door and taking the boxes from me. "Thanks again. Maybe I'll see you around."

"Count on it," I say with a grin and walk to the door directly across from hers.

"Dream on," she mutters loud enough for me to hear.

"What are you doing?" she practically screeches.