PLEASE WELCOME GUEST AUTHOR AMBER DAULTON!!
Tagline: He was never supposed to touch her. Now he’ll kill to protect her.
I never set out to write Ángel and Marisol’s story. In Corrupting His Wife, Ángel was supposed to be a minor character—a bodyguard who took a bullet, survived, and continued working in the background, not to be seen or heard of again. But the moment he hit the pavement, something shifted. He didn’t fade into the background the way side characters usually do. He kept talking to me, demanding a story of his own.
I’ve long learned not to argue with characters who refuse to stay quiet. When one starts pacing in the back of my mind, tugging at threads I didn’t plan to unravel, the only way to get any sleep is to give in and write the story they’re demanding. Ángel became one of those characters. He didn’t ask for a book; he demanded that I write the damn thing.
And then there was Marisol.
Their dynamic wasn’t soft, safe, or tidy. It’s not the kind of romance that starts with a fun meet‑cute and a shy smile. It began with blood, fear, and a woman kneeling beside a dying man because she couldn’t walk away. It began with obsession, with loneliness, with two damaged people colliding at the exact right moment.
I didn’t choose their darkness. They brought it with them.
Yes, their romance has a creep factor. Stalking is wrong no matter how you frame it. But fiction lets us explore the places where broken people find connection in ways that wouldn’t work in the real world. Ángel and Marisol needed a beginning that wasn’t ordinary. They needed danger. Obsession. The kind of twisted, high‑stakes pull that forces two people to confront everything they’ve been avoiding.
Their story grew out of that collision—out of trauma, loyalty, fear, and the stubborn spark of hope that refuses to die even in the worst circumstances.
I wrote this book because Ángel wouldn’t let me ignore him. I wrote it because Marisol deserved someone who would burn the world down to keep her safe. I wrote it because their broken edges fit together in ways that surprised me.
And I wrote it because sometimes the characters who weren’t supposed to matter end up becoming the ones who won’t let you go.
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.
– Book 3.5 in the dark romance series, the Lozano Cartel. All the books can be read as a standalone, but are part of an interconnected series.
– Scenes featuring gang violence and suicide may be uncomfortable for some readers.
– No cheating. HEA guaranteed!
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 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 tsked, shaking his head. The university-aged kids who lived in that dingy house at the end of the street were partying again. It was only Thursday, for fuck’s sake. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. As if he had any room to judge. At twenty-eight years old, he’d surely partied harder than those guys down the block could imagine.
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!”
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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.
Amber Daulton is the author of the Lozano Cartel, the Arresting Onyx, the Embracing You, and the Ramseys in Time series, as well as several standalone novellas. Her books are available in ebook and print on demand while select titles are in audio and foreign language formats.
She lives in North Carolina, USA, with her husband and demanding cats.
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