Uh-oh, it looks like your Internet Explorer is out of date.

For a better shopping experience, please upgrade now.

No Limits

No Limits

3.2 11
by Alison Kent

See All Formats & Editions

The Heat is On . . .

Simon Baptiste's latest SG-5 mission just went south in a major way. It seems like a good time to take care of some business back home in Louisiana. Simon knows it ain't going to be pretty. He's got old enemies in Bayou Allain who won't exactly roll out the red carpet. But Simon's first night back is more than he bargained for. Not only


The Heat is On . . .

Simon Baptiste's latest SG-5 mission just went south in a major way. It seems like a good time to take care of some business back home in Louisiana. Simon knows it ain't going to be pretty. He's got old enemies in Bayou Allain who won't exactly roll out the red carpet. But Simon's first night back is more than he bargained for. Not only has the homestead gone to hell in a hand basket, but there's a half-naked woman hiding inside it--a woman whose face Simon knows all too well. It's Michelina Ferrer, the sultry spokesmodel for her family's Ferrer fragrance empire--and Simon's been staring at her picture on a billboard outside his Manhattan apartment for weeks. . .

And It's Only Getting Hotter . . .

Micky Ferrer came down to Bayou Allain looking for her old college friend, only to discover that Lisa Landry has been missing for days. As soon as Micky starts asking questions, someone runs her car off the road. She's hiding out in the old Baptiste place when Simon shows up--and he's the hottest thing she's laid eyes on since she got to town. Simon agrees that something strange is going on and that Lisa's disappearance may be tied to it. As he and Micky search for answers, the sweltering heat makes it hard to keep their heads straight or their hands off each other. . .even as they unravel the small-town secrets that some people are willing to kill for. . .

Product Details

Publication date:
Edition description:
Product dimensions:
5.40(w) x 8.20(h) x 0.90(d)

Related Subjects

Read an Excerpt


Copyright © 2009

Alison Kent
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-7582-1757-8

Chapter One It was the perfect bedroom.

Truly it was.

The bed was queen size, the sand-colored sheets one-thousand-thread-count Egyptian cotton, the coverlet chocolate matelassé, the duvet imprinted with a scrollwork pattern in ebony and brown.

The nightstands and wardrobe, headboard, footboard, and five-drawer chest were hardwood solids, the cherry and walnut veneer inlaid with Italian marble. The lamps were urns of Venetian bronze with shades the same ivory as the handwoven rug of wool and rich silk.

The jewelry chest on the mirrored vanity held her signature onyx pieces-including the glossy ebony disk surrounded by lemon quartz and mustard-yellow petal pearls designed for her to wear at the Tonys. The photos had been splashed all over the Web. She'd never worn the piece again.

A social secretary handled all of her appointments, from luncheons to charity events to spas, nails, and hair. An executive assistant took care of her financial, legal, and business obligations. The two women shared an office on the first floor of the five-story prewar in TriBeCa, leaving her to her personal space on the third.

It was the perfect bedroom.

Truly it was.

Or it would have been had Michelina Ferrer not been thirty years old, still sleeping in her father's house, and sleeping there alone.

She slid from her perch on the end of the bed to sit on the floor, missing the rug completely and hitting the cold hardwood. Her purse followed, a plop of crushed leather at her hip. The contents tumbled out.

She groaned-not at that mess but at the other one she'd made before catching a cab to come home. Oh, but she was so not looking forward to the celebrity photos section of tomorrow's "Page Six."

What had she been thinking, ditching her underpants while at Slick Velvet and dancing bare-assed on the raised platform like some sixties go-go girl? Okay, she knew what she'd been thinking, but still.

She wasn't a pop star shaving her head and looking to shock the media into remembering her glory days.

She wasn't a celebutante seeking headlines through sex videos, music videos, DUIs, and reality TV.

She wasn't an actor feeding her drama queen need for publicity through breakdowns and rehab, fan sympathy, and peer critique.

She was the public face of and the spokesmodel for the family business, Ferrer Fragrances.

She was also her father's sole heir.

Micky dropped her head against the mattress, closing her eyes and fighting the need to weep. Papi was going to kill her when he saw tomorrow's edition of the Post. And he would see it. Greta would make sure of that.

Greta always made Papi aware of his "little Micky Mousey's" stunts-and for one simple reason. It was Greta's opinion that Micky had no business representing the Ferrer name across the globe.

Right now, at four a.m., on a Tuesday in April, more drunk than not, her butt sticking to the floor, her pedicure scuffed all to hell, Micky wasn't so sure the other woman wasn't right.

It wasn't that Greta wanted the job for herself, or even had anyone else in mind. She'd been Papi's personal assistant for fourteen years, and she made no bones about putting Ferrer's corporate interests above the family's.

Of the two women, Greta was the one with her priorities in order, her head on straight. But then Greta wasn't the one looking at a future with a man of Papi's choosing, a man she didn't even know.

It didn't matter what Micky was facing. Her streak of admittedly bad and self-destructive behavior had to stop, and stop now.

This recent old-school, arranged-marriage trigger aside, she didn't know where it had come from, this manic desperation. She didn't know what was going on with her. She did know this wasn't like her, wasn't who she was.

She never had been one to act out or throw tantrums. She'd only had to ask for what she wanted. It had always been that simple for Edoardo Ettore Ferrer's daughter, his "little Micky Mousey."

Either she didn't know what she was searching for, or worse. It was something she had no business thinking about, being in the position she was.

Whatever. She couldn't deal tonight, this morning. She'd had too many margarita martinis-like that was a good idea? Not her drinking them, just the mix of the two cocktails.

And with a gummy worm for garnish? She smacked her tongue to the roof of her mouth and tasted sour lemon and other things she couldn't place that quite frightened her.

She reached for her purse and began gathering the spilled contents, contents that included her thong. She groaned, hooking the scrap of fabric with one finger and twirling it around before flinging it across the room.

God, but she wished she was more drunk so she could remember less of the night, or less drunk so she could remember more. As it was, she was gong to need her own copy of the paper to separate the brutal reality from the vodka-tequila haze.

No doubt Greta would be happy to provide her one to read at the breakfast table while Papi read his....

Micky groaned again. She couldn't face him. She just couldn't. She'd seen the disappointment in his face too many times this last year as she'd strained against some weird boundary that had begun to constrict her.

What she needed was to blow off work and her shrink and spend a long weekend watching all six seasons of Sex and the City on DVD with Lisa, gorging on kettle corn and room-temperature Coke the way they had the last time her girlfriend had been in Manhattan.

When was that? Two years ago? Three? How had she let herself lose touch with someone who'd been such an important part of her life? Could it be because Micky herself had turned into a person she was really beginning to dislike?

Lisa Weston-now Lisa Landry-had stepped between Micky and a horny frat boy their first year at school, and the two women had been BFF-best friends forever-from that very day, even though Lisa later left college to marry a deputy sheriff down in Cajun country, abandoning Micky to the clutches of Greta and Papi and all the beautiful people Micky didn't care to know.

Poor little rich girl. All alone in her ivory tower. Making a mess of her attempts to escape. Wait. That's what she'd do! Escape! She'd take the Coke and the kettle corn down to Louisiana.

Lisa had written just recently; Micky dumped her purse again and found the envelope she'd tucked inside after reading about Lisa's family keeping her out of some loop.

Some friend she was, not even checking back to see if the other woman was okay. Enough with the destructive behavior. Lisa would help her get her act together, and then Micky would make sure the Landrys understood that Lisa was a jewel and worth more than they obviously knew.

Drinking and driving was out of the question, but she was sober enough to dial. First she had to pack a few things. No, she decided, pushing up from the floor. Packing would take too long, though putting on her underpants wouldn't.

She had her credit cards, her cell phone, and the envelope with Lisa's address. She could get what she needed once she reached ... She frowned, unfolded the envelope. Once she reached Bayou Allain.

Chapter Two He was going to go.

His mind was made up.

He'd been putting it off for too long.

Standing at the window outside the wall of servers that hid the guts of the Smithson Group's ops center, Simon Baptiste stared across Manhattan toward the southwest and thought of Louisiana and Bayou Allain.

He hadn't been back in years. The realization that he had business there left dangling was making him restless, jumpy, irritable, like he'd popped back a handful of pills and been slammed with the backwash.

He'd joined the army at eighteen, boarded the bus for boot camp, and kissed the bayou country good-bye. That didn't mean the flavor wasn't still strong in his blood. Like his mother, he'd been born in that land of cypress trees and accordions, of alligators and boudin and swamps.

He'd seen a whole lot of the rest of the world since leaving the Gulf Coast. Twenty years had gone by, and he'd done as much traveling since his discharge as during his three tours. But other than going where Hank Smithson sent him these days, he was all about sticking close to home.

A studio on the Lower East Side had been his crash pad since joining the SG-5 team. He'd figured it would be easier to stick close to headquarters than fly in and out the way Mick Savin did from West Texas, or the way Ezra Moore did from the Florida Keys.

The place was small, but it was all he needed, and lately, for weeks longer than was good for any man, he'd needed it a lot, holing up like an injured animal, tending his wounds in tight quarters, feeling safer in those few hundred square feet than he could in a larger town house or loft with too much exposed space, too much room to roam.

The billboard had helped.

It had gone up a month ago. He'd gotten used to kicking back on his small patio and telling the woman in the fragrance ad-Ferrer's Adria-about his day, giving her the rundown of what he had to do the next, where Hank was sending him, who the bad guys were this time.

She would smile, looking like all kinds of hot, listening to every word he said as if she couldn't wait for him to shut the hell up and take her to bed. She'd only started talking back when he'd been too drunk to stop her.

After the shit hit the fan on his last SG-5 assignment, he'd stayed that way for a week, her nagging voice ringing in his ears-or so he'd thought until Hank had quit the buzzer and started knocking instead.

Hank had told him it was fine to take a break and wallow, but he needed to be sober while he did. Not that Hank was wrong, but Simon had been the one walking in those particular shoes, the one to see the advantage in the bottle.

Speaking of Hank and shoes ... Simon heard the older man's footsteps behind him only seconds before a meaty hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Mornin', boss."

Hank moved to stand at Simon's side, staring with him at the financial district and the human ants on the sidewalk below. "When you just say mornin' like that? It leaves a man to wonder whether it's a good one, or whether the day has started off so wrong it'll never get back to bein' right."

Simon chuckled under his breath. "It's good enough; thanks for asking. I've just got something that needs doing that I'm not looking forward to."

He handed Hank the envelope that had hit his box after a series of forwards and courier drops; he liked that no one knew where he was other than those he wanted to know.

And then Simon waited while the man who had given him back his life took a look at the past Simon had hoped would resolve itself if he ignored it long enough.

Twenty years spent ignoring the property he owned but never wanted had accomplished nothing. The time had come to cowboy up, to get his affairs in order. He needed to see to the land. But of a higher priority was his need to make whatever peace he could with his cousin. After all, King was the only blood family he still had.

Hank scanned the documents inside that had come from Savoy Realty and included the property tax bills, the management company's maintenance records, the current appraisal and geological survey, the rental history that was out of date and sorely lacking in detail.

"Judge Terrill Landry, Sr.," Hank finally said, flipping through the pages Simon had fairly memorized. "I'm not familiar with the name."

Simon was familiar enough for the both of them. Judge Terrill "Bear" Landry, Sr. no longer served on the bench but worked as a land man instead. During his time with Division C of the Fifteenth Judicial District of Louisiana, however, he'd been the one who'd sentenced both Simon and King after investigators determined the fire that ate through the latter's family home to be arson.

"Le Hasard. That's what you call the place?" Hank asked, and after Simon nodded, added, "You going to sell? Hang on to the mineral rights? Unload the whole caboodle? Because I know you're not going to keep walking away."

And that was Hank, seeing through his SG-5 operatives' bullshit and never letting any of them slide. They were all good men, each with a lot to account for, to make up for. Yet Hank never played favorites, demanding they own up to their sins, forgiving them even when they might not know how-or be ready-to forgive themselves.

Simon scrubbed his hands down his face. "I'm not sure what I'm gonna do, but I do know I have to go, see what condition it's in and all."

"Then go." Hank hooked a forefinger and thumb around the stub of his cigar and pulled it from his mouth. "You'll figure it out when you get there."

"Might be I screw it up, sell it when I should keep it, keep it when I should sell." He didn't mention anything about King. "It's been known to happen. Me screwing up."

Hank knew what had gone down with Simon and Eli McKenzie, his most recent partner. Hank had been the one to bring Simon back from the brink. And Hank wasn't having any of it. "There's not a man here who hasn't felt the screwed-up fit of your shoes."

"Too true that, boo," Simon said, knowing they'd all spent time in their own versions of hell. "Maybe I should be getting one of them to go in my place."

He couldn't see Bear Landry-who had to be closing in on, what, sixty-five, sixty-eight by now?-knowing what to make of the fierce warrior that was Eli McKenzie. Or Lorna Savoy-and why was she still a Savoy?-putting up much resistance to Tripp Shaughnessey's charm.

And his cousin King knocking heads with Kelly John Beach would be worth the price of the ticket, since his cousin's head had no doubt grown harder with age. But this was one of those man-doing-what-he-had-to-do situations.

Hank folded the documents and slid them back into the envelope, tapping it against Simon's arm. "You know any one of them would. 'Cept that wouldn't be much in the way of a favor. None of them can kill off the bugaboos been keeping you away for twenty years."

Simon had never laid out the events of the past to Hank, but he wouldn't be at all surprised if the boss knew what had gone down with the fire, or why Bear Landry had wanted Simon and King out of the way and had meted out punishment that made it happen. Getting to the bottom of that mystery as much as dealing with King and the land was the very reason Simon had to be the one to go.

"You can run things around here on your own for a while?" he asked. "I don't want to leave you in more of a bind than I already have."

"We've got the bad guys under control, hotshot. You go and do what you need to do for yourself. We'll be here if you want to come back-"

Want to? Why wouldn't I want to? What would I do instead?

"-and we'll know where to find you if you don't."

"I'll be back. As soon as I can make it." That was a promise. "There's not a thing on the Gulf Coast worth stayin' there for." And that was a fact.

Chapter Three "He's coming home, Baby Bear. He's finally coming home. I swear I don't know whether my heart's beating itself full of fear, or if it's fluttering from waiting to see what he'll look like after all this time."

Terrill Landry, Sr.-Bear to everyone living in Bayou Allain, Baby Bear to Lorna Savoy, who knew more of his secrets than his wife had ever been privy to learn-slapped a thick palm on a file folder to the right of the leather blotter centered on his desk.

"I've got a picture right here, Lorna, if it'll save you from peeing yourself," he told her, glancing to where she stood at his office window, the green paisley drapes more expensive than her outfit, her manicure, and her haircut combined.

For not the first time in the twenty years of their association, he found himself wishing he'd taken on someone who hadn't turned out so silly, so easily flustered, so goo-goo eyed when it came to men-except that particular bit of Lorna's being female had played well with his dealings and made the rest of who she was easier to overlook.

Then there was the surprising fact that inside all that fluff, she had a good head for his work. He supposed that had a lot to do with the pit of her existence before he'd plucked her out of her family's shack in the swamps, and knowing he was giving her a chance she'd never get again.

He looked her over.

Her hair was a nest of bottle-red flips and teased curls, her tits 100 percent real, still firm and high, and more than enough for any man's hands, mouth, or dick. Her hips, still trim, were curvier now than they'd been years ago when he'd crawled between her legs without help. Her stomach remained bikini flat above her shaved-bare pussy.


Excerpted from NO LIMITS by ALISON KENT Copyright © 2009 by Alison Kent. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

RomanceReview.com says, "Alison Kent is well on her way to becoming a single title phenomenon." Patricia Rouse of Rouse's Romance Readers Groups says, "Alison Kent segues from series into mainstream romance brilliantly with her stunning spy series for Kensington Brava!" Romantic Times says, "Kent combines James Bond-like characters with realistic plots to provide readers with plenty of fast-paced action and pulse-pounding intrigue." Alison is thrilled to be writing erotic romance for Kensington Brava. She and her family live in Houston, Texas.

Customer Reviews

Average Review:

Post to your social network


Most Helpful Customer Reviews

See all customer reviews

No Limits 3.5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 10 reviews.
Annmarie_A34 More than 1 year ago
Ok. I totally loved this book. LOVED. IT. I adore the heroine, Micky Ferrer. I especially adore what being around her does to Simon Baptiste. *drool* Seriously, who doesn't want a strong, handsome and lethal man like Simon? (If you don't, that's ok. I won't judge. Well. I will. But I won't openly judge.) It makes my heart swell that Micky makes Simon happy. I want my hero to be happy. It also makes me shiver just a little (Ok. A LOT!) that such a tough and rugged man can find a heart full of tenderness and love for one woman. Micky and Simon are thus far, my favorite SG-5 couple. And that's saying a lot! Fans of the SG-5 series are gonna gobble up No Limits. New readers can read No Limits as a stand alone. But trust me, after reading No Limits new readers to this series will FLOCK to the book store to buy the rest of Alison Kent's delicious SG-5 heros!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
harstan More than 1 year ago
Simon Baptiste was given a choice between jail and the army. Reluctantly he joined the military with plans to leave Bayou Allain, Louisiana and his enemies behind for now. However after a successful career, his last mission went badly. So after spending a few weeks looking at the Ferrer fragrance model on a billboard in Manhattan, he returns to his hometown to heal; although he knows he will not receive a hero's welcome.---------- What he did not expect inside his home was naked Michelina "Micky" Ferrer, the model he was lusting for while healing in New York. She explains she came to town to see her college friend Lisa Landry who has disappeared. Her questions angered someone who wants her dead. Simon agrees to not just keep Micky safe, but to learn what happened to Lisa and who is trying to kill the model; he hides his other vow from her that he never thought he would ever fall in love with a Micky.----------- Although the meeting between Micky and Simon is a Mount Everest level happenstance, fans will relish the latest SG-5 romantic thriller. The bayou is a fabulous place for secrets and intrigue as Micky learns the hard way while alos a delightful locale for eccentric characters. The story line is fast-paced once Simon goes home and never slows down as the pair investigates the disappearance; ironically readers know the villains much earlier than the heroes. Fans of the saga will enjoy this exciting tale while newcomers will find this a solid entry into the exhilarating world of Alison Kent.--------------- Harriet Klausner
Victoria_W More than 1 year ago
No Limits is intense and emotionally gripping. It's fast paced and deep at the same time. You feel the intensity but there is too much action for you to dwell on it. From the very beginning the description and characters pull you in. But you don't just read their story, you experience their journey alongside them. You connect with the characters because their adventures, relationships, and flaws are realistic. Most people have struggled with disappointing a parent while living life the way they want and making their own decisions like Micky. And most people have experienced the tragedy of losing someone like Simon. Micky and Simon overcome everything, including threat of death, to find a deep and meaningful relationship.