About the book:
They've got to find a cruel serial killer, but their attraction might be deadlier.
Detective Jase Striker doesn't want a partner on the job, and when he’s saddled with Angelica Piccolino—a rookie in the homicide division—he’s more than a little annoyed. But his irritation with his sexy new partner soon morphs into a blistering passion, and though he fears what mixing work with pleasure will do to his crime fighting abilities, she soon proves irresistible.
Despite her diminutive size, Angelica is no stranger to the streets, and at twenty-six years old she’s tired of being treated like a kid. Yet somehow, when her attitude pushes Striker too far and he takes her over his knee for a bare bottom spanking, it merely leaves her desire for him burning even hotter.
Forced to work together as a team, Striker and Piccolino must race against time to hunt down a serial killer whose only calling card is a white rose left with each victim. Can they bring the white rose murderer to justice before another victim turns up?
Publisher’s Note: Striker is an erotic romance novel that includes spankings, sexual scenes, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.
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About the Author:
Patricia Green is a full-time fiction writer specializing in erotic romance. She provides the reader with love stories that emphasize fun characters with quirky personalities. Patricia is the author of more than 30 published novels and novellas as well as an ever-growing collection of short stories.
In her personal life, Patricia is married, and the mother of twins. When she’s not being the angel of domestic harmony and a semi-crazed creator of fictional friends, she loves to read, crochet, knit and watch hockey.
You can reach Patricia Green in the following ways:
Email: pig (at) patriciagreenbooks (dot) com
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Patricia-Green/e/B002RCB0IK/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1
Goodreads Author Page: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4541511.Patricia_Green
I chucked the file and its fresh autopsy report onto my desk and turned away from my cubicle to head for the coffee machine. It was about time for a cup o’ joe and a look at the usual Monday doughnut selection. I realized I’d left my coffee cup on my desk and turned back.
"Are you my daddy?"
The voice came from behind me, so I swiveled, fully expecting that the female with the question was going to be some adolescent who'd mistaken me for another cop. What met my eyes was the last thing I expected: a honey blonde, maybe eighteen, nineteen, years old, far too old to be my daughter. And she was smirking at me. "What?"
"I asked, 'Are you my daddy?' Didn't you hear me the first time? Are you deaf or just stupid?"
"Listen, kid, I don't have time for this. You know I'm not your father. Get lost."
The captain walked up, and patted the young woman on the back. "Play nice, Striker. This is your new partner, Angelica Piccolino from Vice."
Laughing, she nearly doubled over with mirth. My face heated, not with embarrassment, but with blazing irritation. Who was this Angelica Piccolino, and how was I going get rid of her?
“Cute,” I said. “You sent me a high school student to work on a homicide. Why would I ever think you were putting me on?” If my tone was gruff, I had a right. No one likes to be the butt of a joke.
“Aw, keep your pants on, grandpa,” said the petite thorn in my side. “I’m fully qualified.”
Okay, so I snorted. Probably not the most adult thing I could have done, but not as juvenile as laughing out loud.
How could a pint-sized, snot-nosed girl be qualified to work on a homicide? “You’re from Vice?”
This time, Captain Donati spoke up. “Don’t be such a hard-ass, Striker.”
I thought about it during the three-second pause in the conversation. Donati was trustworthy, and a conversation about the suitability of my new partner should not take place in the cubicle farm. “Yeah. Just surprised, is all.” I gave the girl a steady stare, hoping for a little intimidation. “And that was not the best way to introduce yourself, Piccolino.”
She had the nerve to shrug, grinning. “Gotcha good, though, didn’t I?”
A corner of my mouth almost turned up, but I stopped the grin from coming on. “Yeah.”
“You had the stupidest expression on your face, Striker. Priceless. You looked like a scorned cow.”
I didn’t even address that caustic remark, and perhaps it was small of me, but I was rather proud of my ability not to bite her head off.