Please help me welcome today’s guests, Amber Daulton and Ángel Rascón…
People talk about wicked men like we crawl out of the dark already ruined. Like the choices come easy. Like the line between right and wrong snaps clean. I used to believe that, too, until the day Marisol knelt beside me on the sidewalk and kept me alive with her bare hands.
I’d been shot. Heat tore through my chest and shoulder. Blood soaked my shirt and pooled under me. A drive‑by isn’t personal until you’re the one bleeding out on the street, trying to stay conscious long enough to figure out who pulled the trigger. I should’ve died there. Fate disagreed.
When I woke up the next day in the hospital, Marisol was there. She’d stayed overnight in her blood-smeared clothes just to make sure I pulled through the surgery. We were strangers, but her kindness hooked its claws into me.
That’s when I developed my new favorite passion—stalking.
I filed a background check on her, and once released from the hospital, I drove by her house. More than once. All right, a dozen times. Then I waited in her yard, behind the bushes, along the fence line, watching her move through her life like she wasn’t the reason I was still breathing.
Six weeks of recovery gave me too much time to think. Her voice replayed in my head. The memory of her touch. The sassy sweetness in her smile. The huskiness in her laugh. I built an innocent version of her in my mind and wanted the real woman in my life. I fell in love with the idea of her.
Before long, I knew her routine—when she slept, what she ate, where she went, who she associated with—and I learned one very important thing. She was as lonely as me.
Thankfully, she’s a physical therapist and agreed to take me on as a patient. She hadn’t seen me since the hospital, but when I walked into her treatment room for my first session, it had only been a few hours since I last watched her from the shadows.
She was mine to protect. She just didn’t know it yet.
Wicked men with a passion like mine justify everything. I’m no different.
When my crewmate, Bruno, broke into her home, I couldn’t keep to the shadows anymore. I didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. I went straight through that door and dragged the man off her. Turns out, her brother stole from the cartel. To get the money back, my crew figured the best way to find him was to target her. Now, my loyalties are tested. But one thing will never change.
Marisol is mine. You touch her, you pay the price.
If that makes me wicked, then fine. I’m as wicked as they come. And I don’t regret a damn thing.
He was never supposed to touch her. Now he’ll kill to protect her.
Blurb:
A drive-by shooting lands him in the hospital. And in the arms of temptation.
Cartel enforcer Ángel Rascón knows he should stay away from the woman who saved his life. Marisol is a sensual blend of fire and innocence, irresistible to his inner beast. She’s also the little sister of a man now on the run from the cartel—Ángel’s friend and former partner. Getting involved with her could destroy everything he’s worked for, but when she’s threatened, it’s game on.
Physical therapist Marisol Cruz knows Ángel is dangerous, yet he’s always there. Watching. Waiting. Wanting. After her brother’s enemies track her down, Ángel appoints himself her protector with every intoxicating kiss.
Ángel will have to risk his position—and his life—to keep her safe. But Marisol faces the most devastating choice of all. Loving her stubborn enforcer may mean losing her brother forever.
Excerpt:
Ángel latched the squeaky iron gate behind him and crept across Marisol’s darkened front yard. The soothing droll of crickets masked the sound of his footsteps while the overgrown trees, shrubs, and cacti at the far property line shielded him from any nosy neighbors. Not that she had any in this quiet, working-class neighborhood on the city’s outskirts. As he braced himself against the side of her house, the rough stucco scraped his jacket and the back of his head as it always did. Yellow light poured from the living room window in horizontal beams as though to expose him.
Fuck that. He wasn’t an amateur.
Faint music seeped from inside the house.
He smirked, willing to bet his bank account that Marisol was streaming reruns of her favorite telenovela. Desperate for a glimpse of her, he pressed closer toward the glass pane and peered through the slatted blinds.
Inside, Marisol was bundled under a thick red-and-green checkered quilt on the sofa and cheered like a love-struck teenager over something that happened on the TV.
Damn right. He knew his woman well. From the high-stakes story lines to the nineteenth-century period costumes, Las Sombras del Imperio had found its way into countless living rooms across the country. Including his own.
After the program ended, Marisol turned off the television, slipped on her fuzzy house shoes, and grabbed her dinner plate and glass.
He darted around the house and ducked under a mesquite branch in the side yard. The crisp breeze rustled through the leafy branches, swept back his hair, and chilled his skin. Gritting his teeth, he huddled deeper into his denim jacket. His thick, cable-knit shirt caught against the hard ridge over his collarbone, irritating the taut skin. A deep, metallic chill radiated from the inside out, numbing the fracture site with a dull ache. He yanked the collar away from his neck and cursed.
Light now streamed out from the kitchen window.
As the rambunctious mutt next door yapped at something stirring in the bushes, Marisol peered out the glass into the darkness. Fine lines crimped her face.
Ángel slunk deeper into the shadowy foliage. Once she focused on washing the dishes, he swiped a branch out of his way and rolled his tight, sore shoulders. A low grunt tore from his mouth.
Distant laughter rang out, disrupting the tranquility of the night.
He pulled his phone from his jeans back pocket and checked his notifications. Nothing from Raul. Or Muniz. What the hell was going on with them? He slid the cell back in.
A crash echoed from the other side of the house.
Ángel jerked upright.
Marisol flung her dish towel aside and raced out of the kitchen.
“Mierda,” Ángel dashed back around the house and snatched his gun from his hip holster. His pulse thundered in his ears. Icy dread slashed through his stomach.
The front door hung open.
“Get out!” Marisol shouted from inside. Something shattered. “Get out of my house!”
Buy links:
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BookShop.org (Support Local Bookstores!): https://bookshop.org/a/121133/9798233981111
About the Author:
Amber Daulton writes raw, edgy romantic suspense and dark cartel romance featuring high stakes, deep passion, and defiant hearts. She’s the author of the Lozano Cartel, Arresting Onyx, Embracing You, and Ramseys in Time series, as well as a rich catalog of standalone novellas. Her books are available worldwide in digital, print, and select audio formats.
From her home base in North Carolina, she builds dangerous criminal underworlds and maps out fierce, second-chance love stories alongside her supportive husband and her demanding feline writing assistant, Zita.
Learn more: https://amberdaulton.com
Hi, readers. I’m Belle Hamlin, the heroine from Amber Daulton’s new romantic suspense novel, Arresting Benjamin. I’m excited to talk about my greatest passion—playing music. It’s also my career, but the money I make from it dumps it into the hobby category. Yep, that’s right. I’m a struggling musician with a dreaded day job at an insurance company that is sucking the life out of me.
I live in Denver, Colorado, but I travel all across the state for a paying gig. I mostly play at bars and clubs, but sometimes I perform covers of classic songs for weddings, birthdays, and funerals. I can’t afford to be picky when it comes to a reputable gig. You’ll often find my best friends—Mia, Chanel, and Shea—running the merchandise table for me at a bar. They’re my biggest supporters. (By the way, have you checked out their oh-so-sexy books yet? You can find them 
With enemies at every turn, how will they survive with their lives and love intact?
Blurb
A one-night stand, a surprise baby, and a mysterious stalker.
Mechanic Benjamin Starwell can’t stop thinking about Belle Hamlin, the ballsy musician he slept with and skipped out on months earlier. He never meant to get her pregnant, but he’ll do whatever it takes to win back her trust and be a part of his child’s life. His desire for Belle drives him to be a better man, but he’s worn thin with a garage to run and his estranged sister dumping her troubles on him.
Belle’s juggling impending motherhood, her indie rock career, and a stalker who’s determined to see her fail. Even though she’s desperate to get her priorities straight, she pushes aside her past hurt and welcomes Benji back into her bed. She never expects him to slip into her heart.
When the danger escalates, they face the greatest challenge of all—protecting their unborn child.
Excerpt:
Benji’s heart pounded harder as Belle strutted onto the stage from a rear door. Her hips swayed with a ba-dum beat as her hair flapped behind her shoulders. Was there an air vent above her? Dark eye shadow, mascara, and a dark slash of blush on her cheeks deepened her sultry eyes. Her lips swelled like a juicy plum. God, was her lipstick purple? Burgundy, maybe? She bent over, showing off her fine ass, and plugged her acoustic-electric guitar into the amp.
A baby-faced gopher carried a stool and a water bottle to the middle of the platform.
She patted him on the back and stared out at the crowd.
Several men ogled her, despite the baby bump. Their lady friends laughed, but some frowned and slapped the guys’ arms.
Wow. Benji swallowed hard. What he wouldn’t do to unzip her knee-high leather boots, pull down her stockings, and flip up her short pleated skirt? Her red sleeveless blouse emphasized the breasts he couldn’t wait to suckle.
“Hiya, Tempes lovers! How ya doin’? Thanks for coming out in this cold weather.” Her voice echoed through the speakers. The lights lit Belle and the stage in a soft white glow. She strummed the guitar, testing it, as the audience shouted. “I’m Belle Hamlin, and this badass girl is Matilda.” She held up the sunburst-finished instrument. “We’ll rock you for the next hour, so let’s get started.” She ignored the stool, jumping into a song as her fans applauded. Deep, rumbling chords reverberated from the guitar and speakers.
“She’s starting with ‘Stay True’.” Chanel clapped. “It’s my favorite.”
“This is rock-and-roll. She sang folk and singer/songwriter-type stuff the night we met.” He bit his lip as her friends stood and danced in place.
“What did you expect? She’s a solo female artist sandwiched between testosterone-filled rock bands. She has to up her game.” Shea tapped his CD case and flashed a grin. “Give it a whirl later. Belle is a cross between Melissa Etheridge, Stevie Nicks, and Eric Clapton. Her guy issues and social opinions bleed into her songs.”
Wonderful. Guy issues. He had his work cut out for him.
Buy links:
Only .99 cents until October 18, 2022
Universal link – 
Amber Daulton is the author of the romantic-suspense series Arresting Onyx and several standalone novellas. Her books are published through Daulton Publishing, The Wild Rose Press, and Books to Go Now, and are available in ebook, print on demand, audio, and foreign language formats.
She lives in North Carolina with her husband and demanding cats.
Find out more here: 
