Just One Silver Fox

Jacquie Morgan is an open book…
Married young and widowed soon after, Jacquie can’t remember a time that she wasn’t defending and protecting someone. When her baby goes to college and her nest is empty, she decides to indulge herself. Attending the F5F Valentine’s Day “come disguised as your favorite superhero” party seems like the perfect solution—but the better one is taking “Superman” home for the night, knowing exactly who is behind the mask.

Pierce Aston has a hidden past…
Pierce is building himself a new life, with no commitments or responsibilities. Flatiron Five Fitness should be the perfect place to find his new balance, with the bonus opportunity to admire kickboxing queen and human resources manager, Jacquie, but he knows he needs more. Going to a party in disguise is right in his toolbox, as is a mission to provide her with a night of seduction—but being with Jacquie is far more addictive than Pierce expects. When she admits that she only wants a fling, how far will he go to convince her to try for forever—or will his past threaten their chance of a future?

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Five Star Review for Just One Silver Fox, book 8 of the Flatiron Five Fitness series of contemporary romances by Deborah Cooke

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An excerpt from Just One Silver Fox:

At nine-twenty, Pierce headed to the kickboxing studio, anticipation putting a spring in his step. He liked to be early, to check out any variables. He was pumped and a little tired after helping Nate in the weight room for two hours. He’d gotten in his own workout as well as doing a lot of spotting.

The whole time, he’d been wishing the time would fly.

He stopped in the hall outside the studio. It had glass walls on this side and the door was closed, so the sounds of his approach would be muted. Jacquie was working out alone, throwing punches at the punching bag that hung from the ceiling. Pierce watched. She was trim and taut, her muscles tight and her skin wet with sweat, an action heroine come to life. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail that swung as she kicked and punched.

She wore a black tank top and shorts, the Lycra hugging her slender curves, and boots laced over her ankles. Her gloves were worn to a patina with use and her focus was intense. She looked resolute, as if she was going to pound something—or maybe someone—into submission. She landed a hard kick, a good one, and the bag swung, spinning, as she stepped back. She stepped back and blew her bangs out of her eyes, wiping away the perspiration with the back of her glove. Then she pivoted, maybe sensing his presence, and Pierce opened the door to the studio.

“Ready for a more lively opponent?”

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