Honeybun Fever is a series of interracial romance novellas which feature the sexy cousins of the boys from Honeybun Heat. Each of these shorter romantic suspense stories showcases selected characters from the Honeybun Heat series and the two series share a seamless world, though they are stand-alone books. See all the Honeybun Fever books here: http://www.samcheever.com/series.html#honeybunfever
My romantic suspense series, Honeybun Heat, is based on a family of eight, sexy brothers with strange old English names and a proclivity toward finding and dealing with trouble. When a Honeybun or his honey is in trouble, the whole Honeybun clan gets involved in solving the problem and saving the damsel in distress. They shop, they cook, they shoot, they ride, they kick bad guy butt all over the place. They’re sexy, red-haired, wonderfully masculine, and delightfully non-traditional, except when it comes to treating a woman right. Terrorists pale when they see a Honeybun, criminals wobble, and women swoon with sensual delight.
See all the Honeybun Heat books here: http://www.samcheever.com/series.html#honeybun
Four fast-paced books of interracial romantic suspense, with some of the sexiest Alpha heroes you’ll ever meet.
Book 1: Shadow of a Honeybun: Blaze is a happy-go-lucky party girl. Private investigator Dolfe Honeybun is serious as a bullet . It’s a damn good thing that opposites attract!
Book 2: Honeybun Sheik: Sexy Sheik Abdel Ezzat thought he should protect her from his world. But Callia Honeybun ends up protecting him!
Book 3: Stealth Honeybun: Peyton Honeybun is a modern day cowboy who works hard. He just wants to put his feet up and relax. Willa wants to run her business and be left alone. Neither one of them will get what they want…but they just might get much, much more!
Book 4: Hell Hath No Honeybun: What happens to a songbird when she sings the wrong tune? She quickly finds herself in a flight for her life, with a sexy billionaire as her wing man!
From Shadow of a Honeybun
She’s a party girl. He’s serious as a bullet. It’s a damn good thing that opposites attract!
Dolfe Honeybun is a bad boy. Skimming the dark edges of society in his job as a private detective, he’s seen way too much of the dark side of human behavior and become cynical. So when he catches the pretty black woman with mischievous, golden brown eyes sitting in the middle of his crime scene, he’s just not happy to see her, despite a delicious tightening low in his gut when he gets too close.
Blaise Runa likes to push the envelope. But her party girl ways are destined to come back to bite her. Blaise doesn’t take anything seriously. Unfortunately for her, serious, in a truly yummy form, is about to settle around her like a dark fog. And he’s already not amused by her antics.
Dolfe Honeybun grimaced as the cold coffee hit his tongue and dumped the dregs of it outside. The warehouse building was still and dark, its broken windows like black scars on the side of the massive building.
A well-known meth lab, the building had been under near constant surveillance for weeks. But the cops had been unable to catch the principles and were beginning to suspect that somebody on the force was tipping them off. So they’d hired Dolfe, a successful private detective, to track them down.
He’d staked out the warehouse for several nights and had seen mostly vandals and hookers moving around the shadowed streets.
Not a single meth cook.
An active man by nature, Dolfe hated the waiting part of his job the most. Each night had been getting successively harder for him until, at that moment, his nerves jangled with the need to take action. His foot tapped against the floorboard of the car. His knee bounced. He’d been sitting for far too many hours in that car. Six cups of strong, black coffee weren’t helping. His butt screamed for relief and his right leg jerked uncontrollably, the muscles unaccustomed to such long inaction. Dolfe rolled his shoulders and groaned as pain spiked between his shoulder blades.
He decided he couldn’t sit there a moment longer. Putting his hand on the door handle, he opened the door and climbed out, closing it quickly to shut off the light.
He’d parked in a dark alley between two buildings, deep in the shadows created by the towering, brick and concrete structures. Dressed in black from head to toe, including a black stocking cap to hide his bright, blond hair, he was all but invisible standing there. He took a blessed moment to stretch his long body, groaning softly as things creaked and cracked and moved back into alignment.
At barely thirty years of age, Dolfe suddenly felt old.
He checked the nine millimeter Glock he had tucked into his jeans at the small of his back and took off running toward the darkened building across the street.
Standing back and watching hadn’t netted him a damn thing. It was time to take a closer look.
His butt was telling him it was way past time.
The shadows swallowed him whole as he skimmed silently along the soot-stained brick walls. His nose twitched from the faint, almost sweet smell of smoke, which he quickly identified as marijuana. Probably from the college boys he’d watched Mustang full of cruise by a few minutes earlier in a souped-up, yellow Ford Mustang. They had no doubt been looking for one of the hookers who frequented the spot.
He shook his head. A car full of testosterone rather than brains. And they were drugging themselves up as a bonus.
Stupidity, thy name is young-adult male.
By contrast, Dolfe had been old since the day he’d navigated his way out of his mother’s womb. With his personality, he figured he’d probably looked for shortcuts on the way out…hoping to cut a few minutes off his time down the birth canal.
He’d never had a problem with his work ethic. It was more a matter of hating to be told he had to do anything. That was why he’d pursued a career as a private dick.
Well, that, and the fact that he got to kick ass once in a while.
Headlights skimmed the brick in front of him and Dolfe ducked around the corner. He pulled his gun and waited as the car purred to a near silent stop in front of the warehouse.
When nothing further happened for a couple of minutes, he risked a glance around the corner.
A long, black limousine sat idling quietly in the street, the windows privacy-darkened to hide the car’s pampered occupants. It was a full two minutes before one of the doors opened and a woman’s high-pitched giggle cut a swath into the silent night.
The first thing to emerge was a leg. A really long, slender, truly delectable leg. On the end of the leg was a naked foot, the toenails neatly painted a bright red.
Next an arm emerged, the hand holding two strappy shoes with deadly-looking heels on them.
The hand waved in the air for a long moment as the foot tried to get enough real estate underneath it to support the emergence of the body.
The giggle split the silence again and the body shot outward, apparently having received a little help from whoever was still inside the car.
She teetered on the cracked sidewalk for a few seconds, spilling some of the golden liquid from the tall, thin glass she clutched in one hand.
The complete woman was even more impressive than the leg had been.
She was tall, narrow hipped, and round breasted, with smooth, ebony skin and wide, pillow-like lips. She wore her hair in a huge afro, which framed the perfect oval of her face nicely, its oversized exuberance the perfect backdrop for her delicate features and small, pointed chin.
The dress she was almost wearing was red, to match her lipstick and the vibrant polish tipping her fingers and toes. It barely covered the entire curve of her fine, round backside.
She was a dark goddess, perfection in the female form. A gorgeous, ebony skinned Amazon. And she was obviously drunk as a skunk. She stood on wobbly legs on the sidewalk and sipped from the champagne flute in her hand.
The car rocked slightly and a man emerged. Dolfe forced his attention away from the woman and looked at her companion. His eyes widened. The man wasn’t quite what Dolfe had been expecting.
Blaise Runa turned bleary eyes toward the tidy man emerging from the limousine. She squinted. When had he gotten so short? He grinned as he found the sidewalk next to her and took her elbow, rolling off his heels like one of those bop-bag toys.
Blaise giggled at the thought.
Her partner’s dark eyes narrowed under a suspicion that she was laughing at him. “Wha’s wrong, Blaise?” He glared up at her, the slight slurring of his speech the only indication that he’d had at least two bottles of Champagne since she’d met him.
She reached out and patted the top of his sleek, dark head, which only reached to about her armpits. Grimacing, she pulled her hand away. Something sticky coated her palm. “You got syrup on your head?”
The narrowed eyes joined a frown on the surface of his coldly handsome face. His grip on her arm tightened. “C’mon. I got business to take care of in here. Then we can party s’more.”
For the first time, Blaise glanced up at the building looming over them. The dark, tattered structure felt cold and forbidding. It made her shiver with dread. Shaking her head, Blaise tried to pull her arm from his grip and back away. “I’ll stay here while you do your business. I don’t wanna go in there.”
Her friend gave her arm a little yank, tugging her up against his side. Something hard poked Blaise in the ribs as she connected with his slick suited chest. “I need you to stay with me.” He told her in a gruff voice.
The bottle of Champagne appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and he topped off her fluted glass. Blaise smacked her lips. “Thanks!”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and started walking. “Let’s get this done so we can have some fun, Chica.”
Despite her alcohol-fogged misgivings, Blaise allowed herself to be pulled toward the warehouse. “I wanna go back to the party.” Even in her drunken state, Blaise hated the whiny tone of her voice.
“Shut up, Chica. We’re gonna make our own party in a few minutes.”
Blaise frowned as he pulled her through the door. She didn’t like the sound of that. The air inside the warehouse smelled strongly of nail polish remover tinged with cat urine. The floor was littered with toxic debris, rags, and plastic bags.
Blaise jerked to a stop, pulling her arm from his grip.
He expelled an exasperated breath. “Now what’s wrong?”
“I need to put my shoes on.”
He shook his head, flipping a small, well-manicured hand in her direction. “Catch up when you’re done. I’m gonna go have my meeting.”
Blaise ignored him. She was trying to balance on one foot and pull one of the strappy sandals onto the other foot. The straps kept getting caught on her toes. She lost her balance and had to hop sideways to keep from falling on her face.
Pain sluiced through her foot and she cried out, changing feet to hop in a different direction. Her foot hit a large, metal object and she jammed her toe. Blaise swore, and switched feet again, grimacing at the pain shooting up her leg when she put her weight on the injured foot.
Her knees buckled and she fell onto her butt. As she fell, her elbow struck the metal container she’d jammed her toe on and it rolled heavily away, clanging against a nearby wall.
From deeper inside the pitch black space a man’s voice swore loudly.
“Sorry.” Blaise called out. Then she concentrated on trying to see the slice on her foot, with only the dubious light of the limousine’s headlights to help.
She was still squinting at her foot when a gun went off deep in the interior of the warehouse.
Another shot pinged off the doorframe behind her and the limousine screeched away from the curb, casting her into darkness. Blaise reached up to feel her hair. She was really drunk but she was pretty sure the bullet had grazed the top of her fro on the way by.
The sound of heavy footsteps pounded toward her from outside. Before she could react, a heavy leg connected with her back and a large body flew over her with a shouted curse. He hit the filthy ground in front of her and skidded several feet, scattering debris in his wake.
Silence pulsed through the large, pungent space. The only sound in the warehouse came from the man sprawled across the floor in front of her. His breath rasped heavily for a moment before a small click sounded and a beam of light focused on her face.
Blaise squinted and flung up a hand.
She couldn’t see his face behind the light but she saw the gun he was holding. It looked huge in the arc of the flashlight beam and she stilled, her eyes widening with alarm.
The man shifted to his knees, keeping the weapon focused on her face. “Don’t even, fucking move!”
Blaise felt her eyes go even wider as she squeaked.
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USA Today Bestselling Author Sam Cheever writes romantic paranormal/fantasy and mystery/suspense, creating stories that celebrate the joy of love in all its forms. Known for writing great characters, snappy dialogue, and unique and exhilarating stories, Sam is the award-winning author of 50+ books and has been writing for over a decade under several noms de plume.
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