Betrayed by the government he worked for, Jake Callahan, leader of a group of powerful telepaths, will do anything to keep his people safe, and that means uncovering the secrets behind their past. His only hope lies with Christa Winters, the beautiful scientist daughter of Jake’s old boss. But Christa has secrets of her own…
“This has it all – a compelling story, characters you can care about and feel invested in, and a sexy romance. If you enjoy your romance with a bit of paranormal, you will love this book. The author is on my must read authors’ list.” – Linda Quick, Goodreads
“I got super excited about a new series from Nina Croft! She’s one of those authors that I know I’ll enjoy regardless of genre or series, and Unthinkable was no exception! This was completely different from any of Croft’s other books and I can’t wait to see where it goes next!” – Laura Greenwood, a-reader-lives-a-thousand-lives.blogspot.co.uk
“All the characters just pulled me in and made this story super enjoyable. Not to mention that the story was awesome too. Secrets and corruption with romance mixed it…what a great combination that the author did a very good job of not overdoing one or the other!” – livelaughandlovebooks.wordpress.com
“Loved this story. It is action packed, suspenseful and the story-line is unique and very interesting. Jake & Christa are a great couple and their lives are a roller coaster ride of whose really good vs evil.” – Annette, Goodreads
“I didn’t think she could top “The Order” series, but she may have done it! This story is very complex with wonderful characters.” – Alisa, Goodreads
There was probably a perfectly reasonable explanation for why this man was here. He obviously knew who she was. Ergo, he probably did know her father. She’d simply call her dad up, and he’d tell her…what? She couldn’t begin to imagine.
Why couldn’t he have been a strip-o-gram? She’d liked that idea.
“No.” The curt word broke into her somewhat random thoughts.
She shook her head. “No?”
“No, you may not phone your father.” He held out his hand. “Give me the phone.”
What the hell was going on? This wasn’t good. She only just resisted the urge to put her hand behind her back. Her eyes darted around the room, but she was still more confused than alarmed. She had an idea that wouldn’t last.
“The phone,” he said again.
“Why would I give you my phone, Mr. Callahan?”
“Because I’m asking you nicely.” He opened the leather jacket and revealed a shoulder holster complete with pistol. “That could change,” he murmured.
She stared at the spot long after the jacket was back in place and covering the pistol. Her mouth had fallen open. Now, she snapped it closed. She’d never in her life met anyone who wore a gun before. In fact, the only guns she had ever seen had been worn by policemen. Could he be a cop? Maybe it wasn’t a real gun. Maybe it was a prop. For his strip-o-gram act.
His face formed an incredulous expression. She had no clue why—she hadn’t moved. Not an inch, since she’d seen the gun. She wasn’t sure she could move; all her muscles were locked in place. Was this what it meant to be petrified—turned to stone? She really could not move. It was quite a fascinating phenomenon. She stared down at her feet, because it meant she didn’t have to look at him, or remember the gun, tried to wiggle one toe, finally managed it.
He cleared his throat, and she jumped.
What were you supposed to do in situations like these? Talk to them? Make them see you as a person. “Are you going to shoot me, Mr. Callahan?”
“Only if I have to.” He had a low and smooth voice, without even the hint of an accent.
“Look, I have no clue what you want, but I don’t have any money—I’m not worth going to all this trouble for.” She tried to make herself look small and harmless—not difficult when she was only five-foot-two. She even tried fluttering her lashes. Any moment now, he’d start his dance routine.
His eyes narrowed and a tic started in his cheek. “The phone.” His hand was still held out.
She was going to have to make a run for it. She edged back a little—if she lunged to the side, she might make it past him. He took a step closer, invading her personal space, so close she caught a whiff of his scent, masculine, spicy with a hint of sweat. It was a nice smell, reminded her of something…but she couldn’t remember what. Some old memory, one that made her feel sort of warm and fuzzy and—
“Jesus, would you fucking concentrate,” he growled, and she jumped again.
She bit her lip. “Sorry, but I get a little distracted when I’m nervous.”
“Christ, is this you nervous? I never would have guessed. Why don’t you do what I ask, and we can get the fuck out of here?”
It was getting awfully late for him to start the stripping thing.
“I am not a fucking strip-o-gram.”