Part of the new Three Kinds of Wicked
ménage series!
See the video trailer below for
more...
When her deserting cad of a husband Renegade LaMarr
reappears in Moose Junction, tomboy Cassandra "Rebel" Thatcher's as spitting mad
as a peeled rattler and prepared to shoot the handsome coward right out of his
boots. She's got her rifle at the ready and a fine-looking, mysterious drifter
named Trey to warm her between the sheets and guard her jaded heart against
Renegade. Armed with a secret and determined to get rid of Trey, Renegade plots
to finally claim Rebel, chaps, spurs, boy breeches and all. Only problem is,
before he can draw his six-shooter and declare a challenge, Renegade finds
himself falling under Trey’s magical spell right along with his passionate,
spitfire wife.
Reader Advisory: This book contains hot yeeeeehaawww scenes of m/f/m sex.
Rebel burst into the saloon and cocked her gun. Her
pulse reverberated in her ears. She gritted her teeth and scanned the smoky room
in search of her cowardly, deserting husband, Renegade
LaMarr.
Where is that
bastard?
Aha. It didn’t take long to spot that moose of a man
over the guide of her weapon.
"You don’t hightail it out of town this instant," she
warned, her voice dripping with abhorrence while she kept the barrel aimed right
at Renegade’s handsome face, "I promise you, you’re good as dead."
Over the top of the poker cards
spread in his big bear-paw hand,
Renegade shot her a look rife
with irritation at the interruption.
"Goddamn it, Rebel, put that blasted
rifle down."
He growled as if she were some sort
of annoying, snotty-nosed brat.
She took careful aim.
He noticed. "So help me if you don’t, I’ll—"
Boom, ping-ping, pow.
Rebel peppered the room with bullets in
an arc around her husband’s
head and wide-shouldered frame. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed
patrons shove over tables to take cover behind the heavy timber. She heard the
jingle of coins scattering across the sawdust floorboards. Harlots squealed and
raced from the room in a flurry of skirts and lace. The player piano finally
halted its tune, and except for the faint, quivering whimper
of Hobo the town mutt
cowering near the blazing hearth, the room was plunged in dead silence.
Despite the chaos and his brush
with death, true to form, Renegade didn’t so much as flinch one brawny muscle.
His dark devil
eyes glittered at her and sent a shiver of unease up her spine.
Methodically—just as
the big-headed ass did everything else in
his life—he tipped his felt
hat at her and got to his feet. His spurs
clinked against the planks.
The poker cards fluttered to the floor when he relaxed his fingers and carefully
inched his grip upward
toward his weapons.
But Rebel wasn’t to be distracted
or alarmed. She’d waited too
long for this moment. Her
finger hovered temptingly over the trigger. This poor excuse for a husband would
pay for abandoning her over five months ago. And, oh, how she longed to blow
that smug look off the no-good son-of-a-bitch’s arresting face. Nevertheless,
she supposed
she’d best just run him out of her town and make him snivel the whole way. And
even if she had to do it with the last breath she ever took, she’d see that he
never returned.
"Who in tarnation invited you back
to Moose Junction?" She
glared at Renegade through
the curls of acrid smoke wafting up from her firearm. When he didn’t
reply—granted, she gave him very little time
to respond—she
answered her own question through clenched teeth. "Well it sure in blazes wasn’t
me."
"What the hell’s up your craw?"
Renegade asked in a lazy tone.
He wrapped his long fingers
around the ivory handles of the twin Colts holstered to his narrow hips. She
heard the double click when
he engaged the hammers.
"Uh-uh, pal. Don’t you even
think of
drawing those cannons." She re-cocked the gun and glowered at him, aligning the
steel notch with his heartless, burly chest. Even through the haze, she could
see that the varmint still looked as alive and fine-looking as sin, and as
menacing as a snarling mountain wolf. A soon-to-be
dead one if he didn’t
cooperate. "You know doggone well I can shoot quicker than you can spit and
holler howdy."
Renegade snorted with a
lightning-quick flash of perfect white teeth. "Now, now, dearest wife, don’t go
waking snakes. Everyone this side of the Rockies knows you can’t even hit a
bull’s hind end with a handful of—"
She sucked in a ragged breath and squeezed the warm
trigger without so much as a single twitch of an eye. Bang-zing. The
bullet skimmed the crown of his hat and sent it tumbling into a puddle of
spilled whiskey on the floor. With the Stetson gone, his shoulder-length hair
shone blue-black in the evening sun streaming through the windows. The long
glossy strands were scooped away from his smooth forehead, one that his wife had
never once stroked or kissed. And thanks to his drifter’s heart, she’d resigned
herself to the fact that she never would.
To his credit, he recoiled and carefully stepped behind
a wide support pole. His damning gaze and the barrel of his gleaming
silver firearm
aimed at her from behind the post. "Jesus Christ and mother Mary, have you lost
your cotton-picking mind?"
"Renegade and His Rebel by Titania Ladley captured my
attention from the first page and I couldn’t stop reading until I was done...
This is a fast paced book with a smooth flow. I loved the western language
and tone that Titania gave to the whole book. It made for a
realistic read, even when a touch of paranormal snuck into the story. If you are
looking for a quick, hot read that will have you laughing one minute and fanning
the flames of desire in the next, then I recommend that you pick up Renegade
and His Rebel as soon as you can!" ~ Melissa
for
Dark Diva Reviews
4/5 Cherries!
"If you want a fun western-themed story, with oodles of sex, tons of passion,
and the most unique hero and heroine, then you need to read Renegade and His
Rebel. I give this story 4 cherries." ~Tiger
Lily for Whipped Cream Erotic Romance
