Excerpt Reveal ~ Forged in Desire ~ by ~ Brenda Jackson

Forged in Desire by Brenda Jackson
Publication Date: January 31^st, 2017
Publisher: HQN Books
Genre: Contemporary Romance

Forged in Desire, an All-New Standalone from Brenda Jackson is Coming January 31st!!!

Strong enough to protect her. Bold enough to love her.

When good girl Margo Connelly becomes Lamar “Striker” Jennings’s latest assignment, she knows she’s in trouble. And not just because he’s been hired to protect her from an underworld criminal. The reformed bad boy’s appeal is breaching all her defenses, and as the threats against her increase, Margo isn’t sure which is more dangerous: the gangster targeting her, or the far too alluring protector tempting her to let loose.

Though Striker’s now living on the right side of the law, he’s convinced his troubled past keeps Margo out of his league. But physical chemistry explodes into full-blown passion when they go on the run together. Surrendering to desire could be a deadly distraction—or finally prove that he’s the only man qualified to keep her safe, and win her love.

Excerpt:

Margo Connelly stared up at her uncle. “A bodyguard? Do you really think that’s necessary, Uncle Frazier? I understand extra policemen are patrolling the streets.”

“That’s not good enough. Why should I trust a bunch of police officers?”

“Why shouldn’t you?” she countered, not for the first time wondering what her uncle had against cops. On more than one occasion he’d made that quite obvious.

“I have my reasons, but this isn’t about me—this is about you and your safety. I refuse to have you placed in any danger. What’s the big deal? You’ve had a bodyguard before.”

Yes, she’d had one before. Right after her parents’ deaths, when her uncle had become her guardian. He had shipped her off to London for three years. She’d reckoned he’d been trying to figure out what he, a devout bachelor, was to do with a ten-year-old. When she returned to the United States, Apollo remained her bodyguard. When she turned fourteen, she fought hard for a little personal freedom. But she’d always known the chauffeurs Uncle Frazier hired could do more than drive her to and from school. More than once she’d seen the guns they carried.

“Yes, but that was then and this is now, Uncle Frazier. I can look after myself.”

“Haven’t you been keeping up with the news?” he snapped. “Three people are dead. All three were in that courtroom with you. Erickson is making sure his threat is carried out.”

“And more than likely whoever is committing these murders will be caught before there can be another shooting. I understand the three were killed while they were away from home. I have enough paperwork to catch up on here for a while. I didn’t even leave my house today.”

“You don’t think a paid assassin will find you here? Alone? You either get on board with having a bodyguard or you move back home. It’s well secured there.”

Margo drew in a deep breath. Back home was the Connelly estate. Yes, it was secure, with its state-of-the-art surveillance system. While growing up, she’d thought of the ten-acre property, surrounded by a tall wrought-iron fence and cameras watching her every move, as a prison. Now she couldn’t stand the thought of staying there for any long period of time…especially if Liz was still in residence.

Her forty-five-year-old uncle had never married and claimed he had his reasons for never wanting to. But that didn’t keep him from occasionally having a live-in mistress under his roof. His most recent was Liz Tillman and, as far as Margo was concerned, the woman was a real work of art with the words gold digger written all over her. Margo knew her uncle was a smart man and would eventually figure that fact out for himself. But right now it seemed he was quite taken with Liz’s looks and body.

“It’s final. A bodyguard will be here around the clock to protect you until this madness is over.”

Margo didn’t say anything. She wondered if at any time it had crossed her uncle’s mind that they were at her house, not his, and she was no longer a child but a twenty-six-year-old woman. In a way, she knew she should appreciate his concern, but she refused to let anyone order her around.

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About the Author

Brenda Jackson, New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of over 100 novels and novellas, was born in Jacksonville, Florida. She earned a Bachelor of Science degree in Business Administration from Jacksonville University. She married her high school sweetheart, Gerald, and they have two sons, Gerald Jr. and Brandon, ages thirty-six and thirty-four, respectively. She is an active member of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc. Her professional writing career began in 1995 with the release of her first book, Tonight and Forever. Since then she has written over 100 titles, which includes a made-for-television movie by BET, One Special Moment as well as the movie, Truly Everlasting. She was a 2012 NAACP Image Award Nominee for Outstanding Literary Fiction for her book, A Silken Thread; and was named Romance Writers of America’s Nora Robert’s Lifetime Achievement Award recipient for 2012.

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Excerpt Reveal ~ Stay ~ by ~ A.L. Jackson

STAY

A Bleeding Stars Stand-Alone Novel

Coming January 23rd

She stared back at me with big chocolate eyes.

Molten.

Her gaze washed over me like lava.

Burning up everything in its path.

“You are so beautiful,” she said, voice hoarse.

“Peaches,” I whispered as a warning. Wasn’t sure I trusted myself with her right then.

“You are. Did you know…did you know the first time I saw you…when you were lying covered in blood and you opened your eyes and looked at me, that I saw it? Something so beautiful and raw and powerful. Even when you’d been broken. The way you looked at me shook me straight to my bones. And then tonight…what you did for me…I don’t…”

I roughed a hand through my thrashing hair, a perfect mirror to my thrashing heart. “Peaches.”

Another warning.

I didn’t deserve the way she was looking at me. Like I was good and right when I was no better than the bastard we’d left lying back there on the floor.

So slowly, she reached out, shaking fingers gentle as she traced them along the scar that marked that night beneath my eye.

A tremble took me whole.

Energy pulsed and shivered and shook.

Shit.

I gripped her by the wrist and pressed the underside to my nose. “You’re killing me, darlin’.”

“And you’re saving me.”

A hard frown hit me. “It was you who did all the saving.”

Sitting back a fraction, she shook her head. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be home tonight, hiding in the dark.” Her tongue darted out to sweep across her lips. “I never would have been brave enough to go there or to stand up to him. To say those things.”

“But that’s where I think you’re wrong, darlin’.” This time it was my turn to reach out and touch her. I cupped the side of her face, glancing between her and the road. “I think you’re so much braver than you’ve been giving yourself credit for. I see it there. Feel it every time I look at you. You’re incredible, Willow. Every time you walk through my door, I know it. So good that I know I shouldn’t be doing whatever the fuck it is I think I’m doin’ with you.”

She was still panting those breathy pants, and she leaned into my touch.

“I…” she attempted before she looked down, averted her gaze. Even with her head downturned, there was no missing the blush creeping to her cheeks. She hesitated before she spoke. “When you kiss me…it doesn’t feel like pretending. It feels like the best thing I’ve ever felt.”

I swallowed hard, crossing a line. Pushing into the boundaries that should have been firmly set in place. “That’s because when I kiss you? It’s not pretend. When I tell you you’re gorgeous—the best thing I’ve ever seen? I mean it. And when I look at you…”

I touched the center of my chest, feeling ripped open wide. Exposed. Maybe telling her the truth when it wouldn’t do either of us any good was wrong. But there was no hiding when this girl was looking at me that way. “I feel it right here. We might be pretending, but you can’t fake this.”

Like she didn’t trust herself, she pressed farther against the door. “You make me want things…things I know I shouldn’t want.”

“And what is it you want, Peaches?” I prodded low, knowing full well I was pointing us in the direction of no return. “Told you when I came into your store that I’d give you anything.”

“I want…” She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, nervous or unsure whether to give me the truth.

Blood pounded mercilessly through my veins. Thickened with lust. All of it clouded my judgment, knocking loose my center of gravity.

Because I knew the look on her face. Desire was written across her like a musical score.

The way her body rocked and trembled and silently pled.

Desperate to be played.

I knew I should close my mouth. Shut this down. Drop her at home. Instead, I let the words slide free. “Tell me, Peaches.”

The needy rasp fell from between her lips. “I want you to touch me.”

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Synopsis:

From NYT & USA Today Bestselling Author A.L. Jackson comes the next sexy, gripping Bleeding Stars Stand-Alone Novel…

I’m Ash Evans.
The life of the party.
Hot. Rich. Charismatic.
A tattooed rock star with the world at my feet.
I burn through women faster than the strike of a match.

I’ve embraced my lifestyle and live it to the fullest.
Until the day my lifestyle caught up to me.

Willow Langston found me at my lowest.
Literally.
Facedown in a puddle of my own blood.

I owe her my life and I have three months to repay that debt.
What I never should have done was touch her. Kiss her. Take her to my bed.

Love wasn’t supposed to be a part of the equation.
I gave up that nasty complication a long damned time ago.
Now I want her more than my next breath.
But she doesn’t know what I know.

Do I leave to protect her? Or can I face my demons and ask her to Stay?

Connect with A.L.

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Excerpt Reveal ~ Ego Maniac ~ by ~ Vi Keeland

The night I met Drew Jagger, he’d just broken into my new Park Avenue office.
I dialed 9-1-1 before proceeding to attack him with my fancy new Krav Maga skills.
He quickly restrained me, then chuckled, finding my attempted assault amusing.

Of course, my intruder had to be arrogant.
Only, turned out, he wasn’t an intruder at all.

Drew was the rightful occupant of my new office. He’d been on vacation while his posh space was renovated.
Which was how a scammer got away with leasing me office space that wasn’t really available for rent.
I was swindled out of ten grand.

The next day, after hours at the police station, Drew took pity on me and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. In exchange for answering his phones while his secretary was out, he’d let me stay until I found a new place.
I probably should have acted grateful and kept my mouth shut when I overheard the advice he was spewing to his clients. But I couldn’t help giving him a piece of my mind.
I never expected my body to react every time we argued. Especially when that was all we seemed to be able to do.

The two of us were complete opposites. Drew was a bitter, angry, gorgeous-as-all-hell, destroyer of relationships. And my job was to help people save their marriages.
The only thing the two of us had in common was the space we were sharing.
And an attraction that was getting harder to deny by the day.

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Sometimes what you’re looking for comes when you’re not looking at all.

-Unknown

DREW

I hate New Year’s Eve.

Two hours in traffic to make it not even the nine miles home from LaGuardia. It was after ten o’clock at night. Why weren’t all these people at a party by now? Whatever tension two weeks in Hawaii had relieved was already back to coiling tighter and tighter inside me as the town car inched its way uptown.

I tried not to think about all the work I was coming back to—the endless string of other people’s problems to compound my own:

She cheated.

He cheated.

Get me full custody of the kids.

She can’t have the house in Vail.

All she wants is my money.

She hasn’t given me a blowjob in three years. Listen, asshole, you’re fifty, bald, pompous, and shaped like an egg. She’s twenty-three, hot, and has tits so young they almost reach up to her chin. You want to fix this marriage? Come home with ten Gs in fresh, crisp bills, and tell her to get on her knees. You’ll get your blowjob. She’ll get her spending money. Let’s not pretend it was ever more than it really was. That doesn’t work for you? Unlike your soon-to-be ex-wife, I’ll take a check. Make that out to Drew M. Jagger, Attorney at Law.

I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling slightly claustrophobic in the back of the Uber, and looked out the window. An old lady with a walker passed us.

“I’ll get out here,” I barked at the driver.

“But you have luggage?”

I was already exiting the back of the car. “Pop the trunk. It’s not like we’re moving anyway.”

Traffic was at a dead stop, and it was only two blocks to my building. Tossing a hundred-dollar tip at the driver, I grabbed my suitcase from the trunk and took in a deep breath of Manhattan.

I loved this city as much as I hated it.

575 Park Avenue was a restored pre-war on the southeast corner of Sixty-Third Street—it was an address that gave people preconceived notions about you. Someone with my last name had occupied the building since before the place was converted into overpriced co-ops. Which is why my office was allowed to remain on the ground floor when other commercial tenants were tossed out years ago. I also lived on the top floor.

“Welcome back, Mr. Jagger.” The uniformed doorman greeted me as he swung open the lobby door.

“Thanks, Ed. I miss anything while I was gone?”

“Nah. Same old, same old. Peeked in on your construction the other day, though. Looking good.”

“They use the service entrance down Sixty-Third like they were supposed to?”

Ed nodded. “Sure did. Barely heard them the last few days.”

I dropped my luggage inside my apartment, then headed back downstairs in the elevator to check things out. For the last two weeks, while I was screwing off in Honolulu, my office space had been getting a total renovation. Cracks in the high, plastered ceilings were to be patched and painted, and new floors installed to replace the old, worn parquet.

Thick plastic remained taped over all of the interior doorways when I walked in. The little furniture I hadn’t put in storage was also still covered with tarps. Shit. They aren’t done yet. The contractor had assured me there would only be finish work left by the time I returned. I was right to be skeptical.

Flicking on the lights, I was happy to find the lobby completely done, though. Finally, a New Year’s Eve with no horrible surprises for a change.

I took a quick look around, pleased with what I found, and was just about to leave when I noticed a light streaming from under the door of a small file room at the end of the hallway.

Thinking nothing of it, I headed to turn it off.

Now, I’m six foot two and a half, two hundred and five pounds, and maybe it was just my frame of mind, my not expecting to see anyone, but when I opened the door to the file room, finding her there scared the living crap out of me.

She screamed.

I took a step back through the door.

She got up, stood on the chair, and began yelling at me, waving her cell phone in the air.

“I’ll call the police!” Her fingers shook as she dialed nine, then one, and hovered over the last one. “Get out now, and I won’t call!”

I could have lunged for her, and the phone would have been out of her hand before she realized she hadn’t dialed the final digit. But she looked terrified, so I retreated another step and put my hands up in surrender.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” I used my best soothing, calm voice. “You don’t need to call the police. This is my office.”

“Do I look stupid to you? You just broke into my office.”

“Your office? I think you took a wrong turn at the corner of Crazy and Nutjob.”

She wobbled atop the chair, holding both arms out to regain her balance, and then…her skirt fell to her feet.

“Get out!” She crouched down and grabbed her skirt, tugging it up to her waist as she turned her back to me.

“Do you take medication, ma’am?”

“Medication? Ma’am? Are you joking?”

“You know what?” I motioned to the phone she was still holding. “Why don’t you push that last one and get the police over here. They can drive you back to whatever loony bin you escaped from.”

Her eyes widened.

For a crazy person—now that I was really looking—she was pretty damn cute. Fiery red hair piled on top of her head seemed to match her firecracker personality. Although from the looks of her blazing blue eyes, I was glad I’d held off on telling her that.

She pushed one and proceeded to report the crime of entering one’s own office. “I’d like to report a robbery.”

“Robbery?” I arched an eyebrow and looked around. A lone folding chair and crappy metal folding table were the only furniture in the entire space. “What exactly am I stealing? Your winning personality?”

She amended her complaint to the police. “A breaking and entering. I’d like to report a breaking and entering at 575 Park Avenue.” She paused and listened. “No, I don’t think he’s armed. But he’s big. Really big. At least six feet. Maybe bigger.”

I smirked. “And strong. Don’t forget to tell them I’m strong, too. Want me to flex for you? And maybe you should tell them I have green eyes. Wouldn’t want the police to confuse me with all the other really big thieves hanging out in my office.”

After she hung up, she stayed standing on the chair, still glaring at me.

“Was there also a mouse?” I asked.

“A mouse?”

“Considering you jumped up on that chair.” I chuckled.

“You find this funny?”

“Oddly, I do. And I have no fucking idea why. It should annoy the crap out of me that I come home from a two-week vacation and find a squatter in my office.”

“Squatter? I’m no squatter. This is my office. I moved in a week ago.”

She bobbled again while standing on her chair.

“Why don’t you get down? You’re going to fall off that thing and get hurt.”

“How do I know you’re not going to hurt me when I get down?”

I shook my head and contained my laugh. “Sweetheart, look at the size of me. Look at the size of you. Standing on that chair isn’t doing jack shit to keep you safe. If I wanted to hurt you, you’d be out cold on the floor already.”

“I take Krav Maga classes twice a week.”

“Twice a week? Really? Thanks for the warning.”

“You don’t have to ridicule me. Maybe I could hurt you. For an intruder, you’re really kind of rude, you know.”

“Get down.”

After a full minute stare-off, she climbed off the chair.

“See? You’re as safe on the ground as you were up there.”

“What do you want from here?”

“You didn’t call the police, did you? You almost had me there for a second.”

“I didn’t. But I can.”

“Now why would you go and do that? So they can arrest you for breaking and entering?”

She pointed down at her makeshift desk. For the first time, I noticed papers all over the place. “I told you. This is my office. I’m working late tonight because the construction crew was so loud today that I couldn’t get done what I needed to. Why would anyone break and enter to work at ten-thirty at night on New Year’s Eve?”

Construction crew? My construction crew? Something was going on here. “You were here with the construction crew today?”

“Yes.”

I scratched my chin, half believing her. “What’s the foreman’s name?”

“Tommy.”

Shit. She was telling the truth. Well, at least some of it had to be the truth. “You said you moved in a week ago?”

“That’s right.”

“And you rented the space from whom, exactly?”

“John Cougar.”

Both my brows shot up this time. “John Cougar? Did he drop the Mellencamp, by chance?”

“How should I know?”

This wasn’t sounding good. “And you paid this John Cougar?”

“Of course. That’s how renting an office suite works. Two months’ security, first and last month’s rent.”

I shut my eyes and shook my head. “Shit.”

“What?”

“You got conned. How much did all of that cost you? Two months’ security, first and last month? Four months in total?”

“Ten thousand dollars.”

“Please tell me you didn’t pay cash.”

Something finally clicked, and the color drained from her pretty face. “He said his bank was closed in the evening, and he couldn’t give me the keys until my check cleared. If I gave him cash, I could move in right away.”

“You paid John Cougar forty thousand dollars in cash?”

“No!”

“Thank God.”

“I paid him ten thousand in cash.”

“I thought you said you paid four months.”

“I did. It was twenty-five hundred a month.”

That did it. Of all the crazy shit I’d heard so far, thinking she could get space on Park Avenue for twenty-five hundred a month took the cake. I broke out in a fit of laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re not from New York, are you?”

“No. I just moved here from Oklahoma. What does that have to do with anything?”

I took a step closer. “I hate to break the news to you, Oklahoma, but you got ripped off. This is my office. I’ve been here for three years. My father the thirty before that. I was on vacation the last two weeks and had the office remodeled while I was gone. Someone named after a singer scammed you into giving him cash to rent an office he had no right to rent. Doorman’s name is Ed. Walk through the main building entrance, and he’ll verify everything I just said.”

“That can’t be.”

“What do you do that you need office space?”

“I’m a psychologist.”

I held out my hand. “I’m an attorney. Let me see your contract.”

Her face fell. “He hasn’t brought it by yet. He said the landlord was in Brazil on vacation, and I could move in, and he would come back on the first to collect the rent and bring me the contract to sign.”

“You’ve been scammed.”

“But I paid him ten thousand dollars!”

“Which is another thing that should have tipped you off. You couldn’t rent a closet on Park Avenue for twenty-five hundred a month. Didn’t you find it strange that you were getting a place like this for next to nothing?”

“I thought I was getting a deal.”

I shook my head. “You got a deal alright. A raw deal.”

She covered her mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

★★★★

We hope you enjoyed this extended preview!

Vi Keeland is a native New Yorker with three children that occupy most of her free time, which she complains about often, but wouldn’t change for the world. She is an attorney and a New York Times, Wall Street Journal, & USA Today Best Selling author. Over the last three years, eleven of her titles have appeared on the USA Today Bestseller lists and four on the New York Times Bestseller lists.

In 2013, she released her first romance novel and never looked back. To date, she has thirteen novels released, with PLAYBOY PILOT also releasing in 2016. Her novels have appeared on #1 on Amazon and are currently being translated into German, Polish, Portuguese, Korean, Hebrew, French and Italian.

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Excerpt Reveal ~ Accidentally On Purpose ~ by ~ Jill Shalvis

From New York Times bestselling author Jill Shalvis comes the next sexy, standalone novel in the Heartbreaker Bay series…

About ACCIDENTALLY ON PURPOSE:

There’s no such thing as a little in love . . .

Elle Wheaton’s priorities: friends, career, and kick-ass shoes. Then there’s the muscular wall of stubbornness that’s security expert Archer Hunt—who comes before everything else. No point in telling Mr. “Feels-Free Zone” that, though. Elle will just see other men until she gets over Archer . . . which should only take a lifetime . . .

There’s no such thing as a little in lust . . .

Archer’s wanted the best for Elle ever since he sacrificed his law-enforcement career to save her. Their chemistry could start the next San Francisco earthquake and he craves her 24/7, but Archer doesn’t want to be responsible for the damage. The alternative? Watch her go out with guys who aren’t him . . .

There is such a thing as . . .

As far as Archer’s concerned, nobody is good enough for Elle. But when he sets out to prove it by sabotaging her dates, she gets mad—and things get hot as hell. Now Archer has a new mission: prove to Elle that her perfect man has been here all along . . .

Pre-Order ACCIDENTALLY ON PURPOSE in ebook or paperback, releasing 1/24/17

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EXCERPT

“Hey, honey,” Trudy said in her been-smoking-for-three-decades voice. “Need anything?”

“Nope, I’m good.” Good plus mad, but although she adored Trudy, the woman couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. “Just taking in the nice morning.”

“Oh, that’s a disappointment,” Trudy said. “I thought maybe you were looking for that hottie with the nice package, the one who runs the investigation firm down the hall.”

Elle nearly choked on her tea. “Nice package?”

“Well I’m old, not dead.” And with a wink, Trudy pushed her cart down the hall.

It was true that Archer was annoyingly hot, not that she cared. Hot was useless to her. She’d much rather have the things that had eluded her for most of her life—safety, security…stability.

Three things Archer had never been accused of.

At the other end of the hall, she stopped in front of the door with a discreet sign: HUNT INVESTIGATIONS.

The investigative and elite security firm was carried on Archer’s reputation alone, no ads or marketing required. Basically Archer and the men he employed were finders and fixers, independent contractors for hire, and not necessarily tied by the same red tape as the law.

Which worked for Archer. Rules had never been his thing.

She opened the door and let herself into the reception area, which was much bigger than hers. Clean, masculine lines. Large furniture. Wide open space. A glass partition separated the front from the inner offices.

The check-in counter was empty. The receptionist wasn’t in yet—it was too early for Mollie. But not for the other employees. Past the glass Elle could see part of the inner office. A group of men, five of them, entered by a private door. They’d clearly just come back from some sort of job that had required them to be locked and loaded since they currently looked like a SWAT team.

Elle literally stopped short. And if she was being honest, her heart stopped too because sweet baby Jesus. The lot of them stood there stripping off weapons and shirts so that all she could see was a mass of mind-blowing bodies, sweaty and tatted and in all varieties of skin colors.

It was a cornucopia of smutty goodness and she couldn’t tear her eyes away. In fact, she couldn’t speak either, mostly because her tongue had hit the floor. Her feet took advantage of her frozen brain, taking her to the interior door, where she wanted to press her face up against the glass.

Luckily, someone buzzed her in before she could. They all knew her. After all, her job required her to work closely with the security firm, and therein lay her deepest, darkest problem.

Working closely with Archer Hunt was dangerous in oh so many, many ways, not the least of which was their history, something she did her best to never think about.

She was greeted with variations on “Hey, Elle” and “Mornin’” and then they all went their separate ways, leaving her alone with their fearless leader.

Archer.

Pre-order ACCIDENTALLY ON PURPOSE and FILL OUT THIS FORM and enter to receive an exclusive bonus scene from her Heartbreaker Bay series!

And don’t miss the previous books in Jill Shalvis’s Heartbreaker Bay Series, SWEET LITTLE LIES, THE TROUBLE WITH MISTLETOE and ONE SNOWY NIGHT, now available! Grab your copies HERE!

About Jill Shalvis:

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Jill Shalvis lives in a small town in the Sierras full of quirky characters. Any resemblance to the quirky characters in her books is, um, mostly coincidental. Look for Jill’s sexy contemporary and award-winning books wherever romances are sold and click on the blog button above for a complete book list and daily blog detailing her city-girl-living-in-the-mountains adventures.

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Excerpt Reveal ~ Destined ~ by ~ A.M. Guilliams

I’m so excited to share this excerpt from my upcoming release, Destined! I hope you enjoy this snippet from Liam and Grace’s story. Mark your calendars for January 11th, 2017! You can also add the book to your TBR or preorder on iBooks now!

“You look so beautiful tonight. You know that, right?” Liam said as his fingers moved in circles over the top of my knee as he knelt before me. He’d never told me I was beautiful. I didn’t know how to take that.

I was still in the white dress that I’d found to wear under my cap and gown. The dress had a lace top with a sheer skirt underneath. It was fitted at the top and flared out at the hips, stopping at the top of my knee. I wore my jet black hair down with curls cascading down my back and only had on mascara. I thought it was simple, yet comfortable. Knowing that Liam thought I was beautiful caused a smile to form on my lips, and I looked at the ground. My cheeks felt hot from embarrassment. It wasn’t the first time someone other than family told me I was beautiful. But this meant more. It was the first time Liam had mentioned it, and I didn’t know what that meant.

His finger touched the bottom of my chin, lifting my head, so my gaze met his.

“Did you mean what you said? You promised me the summer,” he asked, his finger still lingering under my chin.

My mouth opened and shut several times before I could make the words escape.

“I did. But what does that mean? What do you want, Liam? You’re my best friend. I can’t lose that,” I said, hoping that he could hear the fear in my voice.

His hand wiped down his face. He went from a kneeling position and sat down on the ground; only he didn’t move far from me. He was still just as close. I waited, and my heart felt like it was going to burst from the anticipation of what he would say.

“You honestly have no clue, do you?”

No, I didn’t have a clue. He’d always picked on me. Treated me like one of his guy friends, while he aimlessly flirted with every girl he came across. All I could do was shake my head because I was still clueless as to what he was talking about.

He pulled my hands from the ropes and held them within his own. His palms were sweaty, and I could feel the subtle shaking that indicated he was nervous, making me feel the same way in return. There’d be no going back after this. I just knew before he’d even spoken the words. This confession would change us. Forever.

“I figured you hadn’t. I made sure I hid it well. There’s no way to say this easy, so I’m just gonna spit it out. I don’t see you as my friend, Grace. Ever since you fell out of that tree, I’d always seen you as more. Felt more for you than I should’ve. But I couldn’t gain the courage to act on it. Now I can’t wait any longer. There’s a ticking time bomb going off, and I needed you to blindly promise me something I had no clue if you’d agree to. I kept it all in because I didn’t want to lose you. If you don’t feel the same now, I couldn’t stand to walk away or for us to change. I’m going to shut up now since I’m rambling. If you’re gonna break my heart, just do it fast, Grace. I couldn’t take you stringing me along,” he pleaded as he let go of my hands and turned to look at the tree.

Excerpt Reveal ~ One Careful Owner ~ by ~ Jane Harvey-Berrick

Releasing January 2nd, 2017

99¢ pre-order, a limited time promotion

Amazon US

Amazon UK

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“Take me, all of me, broken and in pieces, or say to hell with me.”

WARNING!
This book will break your heart!
From the best-selling romance author of THE EDUCATION OF SEBASTIAN comes a sexy, heart-breaking and heart-warming story about one man and his dog. (Standalone)

Alex is lost and alone, with only his dog, Stan for company. He doesn’t expect kindness from anyone anymore, but sometimes hope can be found in the most unlikely places. He has a second chance at happiness, but there’s a dark side to Alex, and a reason that more than one person has called him crazy.
Single mother Dawn is doing just fine. Except that her ex- is a pain in the ass, her sister isn’t speaking to her, and her love life is on the endangered list.
At least her job as a veterinarian is going well. Until a crazy-looking guy arrives at her office accompanied by an aging dog with toothache. Or maybe Alex Winters isn’t so crazy after all, just … different.
Dawn realizes that she’s treated him the same way that all the gossips in town have treated her—people can be very cruel.

Contains scenes of an adult nature.

This is a standalone novel with no cliff-hanger.

Tanner’s hooves kicked up small spirals of dirt as he ambled through the forest, picking his own path. It was peaceful and a deep sense of calm spread through me. It had been too long since I’d come out for an early morning ride. I rarely had the chance anymore—life always seemed to get so busy.
Even though it wasn’t more than half-an-hour after sunrise, humidity was beginning to climb. I felt sweat trickle down my back and armpits, but I didn’t care. It was too beautiful out here to worry about anything.
The lake’s surface was quiet, stretching glassily toward the horizon, and I watched the tiny ripples reach the muddy bank as lazy clouds drifted across the sky.
As I rode into the small clearing, the quality of the light changed from the deep green of the forest to the soft glow of the rising sun.
I breathed deeply, enjoying the muted sounds and sense of being utterly alone. It was a rare moment to be carefree.
But as Tanner neared the lake, I spotted a bundle of old rags on the ground. God, I hated that! How could people toss their trash somewhere so beautiful? Sadly, I was used to seeing discarded bottles, cans and sandwich wrappers on the trails.
I was going to pick them up and dump them in the garbage at home, so I dismounted and poked my riding crop through them. But they weren’t rags exactly—instead, I found a tattered pair of jeans, a faded t-shirt and a washed-out plaid shirt.
That was odd. Who would have left them here? Someone camping maybe? I sighed wearily and picked up the clothes. I hated people littering in this beautiful forest.
Suddenly, Tanner shifted next to me and the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. I had the unpleasant sensation of being watched, and when I looked up, my breath stuttered in my throat.
A man was standing in the lake, waist-deep in the water, and he was glaring at me. Instinctively, I tightened my grip on Tanner’s reins.
“Oh, crap! You startled me!”
He didn’t reply, and his icy stare made me nervous.
He was a big man, tall and strong, with broad shoulders and clearly defined muscles. His unkempt beard was thick, and long tangled hair matted against his skull—he looked like one of the fabled Mountain Men.
He made no attempt to speak and his eyes narrowed as anger rolled from him in heavy waves.
I swallowed nervously and took a step back, but then my heel caught in a pile of leaves, and I dropped the clothes I’d been carrying.
He glared, his lips peeled back so he was baring his teeth.
It took everything in me to keep calm while I mounted. Tanner’s large presence was a huge comfort. I borrowed him from my employer and he was usually a skittish horse, but right now he stood happily chomping on grass and ignoring the stand-off.
“I’m going now,” I said weakly, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “Yes, I’m riding away.”
The continued silence was unnerving, but at least he hadn’t come any closer. I began to wonder if he understood English.
Close up, he seemed younger than I’d first thought. His hair was dark blonde, his beard a light brown tinged with red. I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were from this distance. Maybe he was Eastern European?
Finally, the man spoke.
“M-m-mine.”
I blinked, surprised.
“What?”
He screwed his eyes shut, took a slow breath and tried again.
“M-m-mine!”
I stared back, not having a clue what he was talking about, then my eyes dropped to the pile of clothes on the ground.
“Oh, these are yours?”
He scowled at me, folding his arms across his chest. His body language was screaming at me to leave, but otherwise he was silent, menacing, and that scared me more.
My eyes followed the movement of his arms as he clamped them across his body, the biceps bulging, an unspoken warning that this man was bigger and stronger than me, and that I was alone in the forest, miles from help.
At least he wasn’t coming closer.
Then my eyes dipped to the waterline rippling at his waist.
“Oh!”
My eyes widened with the realization that he was completely naked. The water was clear enough that I’d seen everything. And I mean everything. As I glanced up, shocked, he met my gaze, raising an eyebrow suggestively, the implication that I’d been checking him out. I shot him a filthy look, jerking the reins to get Tanner moving.
“You’re trespassing on private property,” I snapped over my shoulder, just to show I wasn’t really completely terrified. “You should leave.”
His lips twisted in a sneer and he took half a pace toward me, his demeanor threatening.
Sensing his mounting fury, I rode away. I’d get the hell out of here and let Dan know that a crazy guy was camping illegally. I urged Tanner to go faster, only looking back once to make sure that the man wasn’t following. But he was still standing in the lake, watching me.

My early morning ride left me completely shaken, and I hated feeling so vulnerable. So I was in a foul mood by the time I got to work at Petz Pets, and Ashley’s shrill voice was like a jack hammer in my head.
I tried to ignore her endless description of a new pair of shoes that were to die for apparently, while I quietly phoned my friend Dan, who also happened to be Girard’s police officer, telling him about the crazy guy at the lake. Then I had to listen to Ashley for half an hour, catching me up on all the gossip that I’d ‘missed’ over the weekend. Mostly it consisted of who’d slept with whom, who was having an affair, and how many Cosmopolitans she’d drunk.
I was trying not to listen, but it was impossible to ignore her piercing tone.
“Oh, that’s so sad!” she said suddenly, her voice falling for a moment.
“What is?”
“Mrs. Humphries emailed to ask if we’ve seen Missy.”
Missy—a two year-old black-and-white ball of fur with wicked long claws, as I knew from painful experience. She was also pregnant the last time I’d seen her and the kittens were due any day. Come to think of it, I’d expected to hear from Mrs. Humphries before now.
“When did she last see her?”
“Yesterday morning.”
“She’s probably making a safe place to have her kittens. Tell Mrs. Humphries to check all her neighbors’ outbuildings and any other places that she thinks Missy might go to. She won’t have gone far.”
Ashley frowned.
“Mrs. Humphries is out by the State Game Lands. She doesn’t have many neighbors.”
I shivered, recalling the scary homeless man I’d encountered. I wondered if Dan would have a chance to check into it today.
Ashley typed something, muttering under her breath and chewing on the inside of her mouth.
“Oh, you’re going to love this,” she cackled as she worked her way through the overnight messages and today’s calendar. “A new client has emailed to make an appointment. That’s weird—people usually phone. Jeez, he’s sent me his dog’s entire life story! Whatever, but get this—he only wants a male veterinarian.”
I glanced up, frowning. “Seriously?”
“Yep. I had to read his message twice to check I wasn’t seeing things. And guess what? His address is Tanglewood. He must be the one who bought Old Joe’s cabin—you know, the place Bob Delaney was going to buy and develop. What do you want me to do?”
I was surprised. I didn’t know that Bob had wanted to buy the place, but it made sense since he owned the adjoining property along the lake. Sort of. Joe had never minded me riding over his land, but I knew for a fact that Bob wouldn’t like it. Mostly because he hated me. And as for Stella’s opinion of me … I didn’t want to think about that.
I’d ridden past Old Joe’s cabin many times. It was a dreary, depressing place, dank and dark and falling apart, deep in the woods. The kind of place you could imagine in a horror movie, except for its location by the lake, which was beautiful.
I gazed at Ashley, constantly amazed by the random information she had rattling around in her head. The FBI needed her on their team.
I redirected my thoughts back to the question. “Does Gary have any slots this afternoon?”
Gary was our chief veterinarian and also owned the business. He was good with prickly customers.
“Yes, three o’clock.”
“Problem solved.”
Ashley gave me an overly-dramatic look of astonishment.
“It doesn’t bother you that the new client is a sexist asshole?”
Yes, the request was irritating, but Ashley was something of a drama queen and I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.
“Not my concern,” I answered, giving a firm look that bounced right off her.
“I’d be pissed as all hell because he obviously doesn’t think women can be vets,” she said, not willing to let it drop.
I tuned her out after that, instead prepping the examination room and reading through my list of patients for the day.
Then our first customer arrived, a West Highland Terrier with eczema, and I didn’t think about the new client again until after lunch when Gary got an emergency callout to a valuable stud animal with a suspected fractured tibia.
Ashley gave me a wide smile as Gary’s Jeep disappeared in a cloud of dust and gravel.
“So … since Gary has been called away … are you going to see this new client? The sexist asshole?”
I sighed, but tried not to look too irritated as I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was just after 2.45PM so she might be able to catch the new client before he left his house.
“Call him and explain what’s happened. If he wants to see me, that’s fine, otherwise reschedule an appointment with Gary.”
She picked up her phone and started to place the call, but stopped suddenly.
“Too late,” she said, jerking her thumb at a battered pickup truck that had pulled into the parking lot.
I turned to look, but for a minute, there was no movement and I began to wonder if the new arrival would ever leave his truck. Finally, I saw the driver’s door swing open and a man jumped out. For some reason, I’d expected an older guy to be the sexist new client, but judging from the way he moved, I was wrong.
In fact, I could see that he was tall and muscular and … then I recognized him.
It was the man from the lake. The naked man who’d scared the crap out of me. I’d been thoroughly rattled seeing him this morning. Being alone with him had made me realize again how vulnerable I was riding by myself and I’d decided to rethink my regular route.
But now I was facing him for a second time. He still reminded me of a Mountain Man, and he appeared to be wearing the clothes that I’d thought were rags. His long, shaggy brown hair and thick beard hid most of his face. A shudder of apprehension ran through me.
He seemed just as ill at ease as he had been by the lake, his eyes darting around restlessly, but then he walked around to the passenger door and I lost sight of him.
When he reappeared, he was carrying a large dog, one that easily weighed 80 or 90 pounds. He must have been strong because he carried the weight easily. I recalled the thick slabs of muscle that sculpted his chest and arms when I’d seen him earlier. Yes, there was no doubt that he was strong, but as he held his pet, his hands were gentle.
I watched his chin bob, and I realized that he was talking to his dog.
Carefully, he set the animal on the ground and fixed a leash around its neck.
The dog immediately sat down and refused to budge. His coat was thick and looked glossy and healthy, his muzzle starting to gray. I guessed he was part retriever, part mastiff—large and solid. And heavy.
Ashley giggled as the man tugged on the leash, but the dog still wouldn’t move. The man stood still, looking at his pet, his hands on his hips, then he shook his head in defeat. Bending down, he scooped up the dog again and shouldered his way through the door into the office.
Now he was closer, I could study him in more detail.
His hair was a tangle of light brown with sun-blond lights, still uncombed, an off-putting mess of wild, crazy curls. His clothes were even worse now I could see him wearing them, unkempt and torn as if he’d given up, but they were clean. And when he stopped in front of Ashley, I caught the faint scent of soap and laundry detergent—no cologne. This man was a paradox.
Ashley smiled tightly from her position behind the reception desk.
“Mr. Winters and Stan, is that right?”
He nodded but didn’t speak, still holding his dog in his arms. His face was grim, as if he’d never smiled, never thought of smiling.
So this was the man who’d bought Old Joe’s place? I immediately felt guilty that I’d assumed he was trespassing and camping illegally. I didn’t know that somebody had already moved into the property. Technically, I’d been the interloper this morning. I felt like such a judgmental bitch. But he’d really scared me, and I hadn’t been thinking clearly.
“I’m so sorry,” Ashley said with fake sweetness, “but Dr. Petz, our male veterinarian, had to go out on an emergency visit. Dr. Andrews over there is available.”
He turned to stare at me and his body stiffened. I saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes before he dropped his gaze to the floor again. I thought for sure that he’d turn and walk out, but then he glanced at his dog and I saw the expression soften in his curious golden-brown eyes as he peered up at me and nodded slowly.
“Great!” said Ashley, her gaze glancing across to me. “I’ve got basic information from your email, but if you could just fill out this form and…”
“Maybe you’d like to bring Stan into the examination room, Mr. Winters,” I interrupted quickly. “He looks rather heavy.”
The man blinked twice, but carried the dog inside without commenting or even looking at Ashley.
“Rude!” Ashley said, not quietly enough, and although I agreed, I shot her a look and took the form from her.
She leaned toward me, her eyes wide as her voice dropped to an urgent whisper.
“I’ll keep my ears open, Dawn. He looks kind of weird. You know, serial killer weird.”
I pressed my lips together and followed my new client.
The dog was sitting on the examination table, drooling heavily and panting. I could tell he was an older animal from the salt-and-pepper muzzle, and his breath was pretty bad. That usually indicated either a gastrointestinal problem or dental issues.
The man was standing in the furthest corner of the room with his hands in his pockets, his head hanging down, peering at me warily through the thick curtain of uncombed hair.
“So this is Stan,” I said, stroking the dog’s head. “A reluctant patient?”
His tail thumped twice.
“I guess you don’t like going to the vet, huh, boy?” I looked up again at his silent owner. “Don’t worry about it. We get a lot of animals like that on their first time here. He’ll get used to us and we’ll take good care of him.”
He stared back at me, his face unreadable.
“And, um, I really must apologize for this morning,” I said, still stroking Stan’s head. “Old Joe didn’t mind me riding across his land. When I saw you, I didn’t know that … well, I made assumptions. It won’t happen again.”
His head tilted to one side, but he didn’t reply, and my cheeks flushed with annoyance and confusion.
“So, how can I help you today?” I asked briskly.
Stan stared at me docilely then yawned widely.
“Phew! That’s some serious halitosis he’s got there. What do you feed him?”
Mr. Winters blinked rapidly, crossed his arms across his chest the way he had this morning, then took several deep breaths. His eyes screwed shut and his whole face contorted. I was afraid he was having a seizure, but then his eyes opened wide and he coughed out a single word.
“B-b-acon.”
“Bacon?”
He nodded, then took another breath.
“Eh … eh … eggs.”
It took him three tries to aspirate the word, and a sudden ache twisted my heart.
My new client wasn’t rude—he had a speech impediment. A severe one.
My heart softened as I stared at this rough-looking man. Then his gaze dropped to the floor, unable to meet my eyes.
But before he looked away, I saw pain and frustration as well as humiliation.
Was it always so hard for him, or was it me? Was this the reason he asked for a male veterinarian?
I couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to go through life without that basic ability of human communication, of connection. I felt wretched that I’d judged him so harshly when we’d first met.
No wonder he’d done everything to avoid speaking either to me or Ashley.
No wonder he hid behind his long hair and straggly beard.
How lonely that must be.
“I’m guessing you’re worried about Stan’s drooling?” I asked gently.
There was no doubt that he loved his dog. I could see the concern in his eyes when he looked my way, see it in the gentle way he handled his pet.
Two intelligent eyes blinked up at me and he nodded.
“Is Stan okay with me touching his mouth?”
He nodded again.
“Okay, let’s have a look at those teeth, Stan.”
I saw the root of the problem right away: gum disease. His teeth were yellow and stained, and Stan also had a plaque issue. But the immediate problem was his inflamed gums. He must have been in a considerable amount of pain, but he didn’t growl or pull away as I checked the rest of his mouth carefully.
“Oh dear, Stan, you should have brushed.”
After giving him a full examination and taking his temperature, which was slightly elevated, I gave his owner the news.
“Several of those teeth will have to come out eventually, and the rest need to be cleaned to get rid of residual plaque. But right now, I want to treat his gingivitis—gum disease—it’s an early stage of periodontal disease, although he’s got quite a nasty infection. And I’d like to schedule a procedure to remove the plaque build-up. Do you have insurance?”
I was already planning the lowest premium our practice could charge, and wondering whether or not Gary would agree to fund the procedure through our charitable program, when Mr. Winters nodded again and pulled a card out of his wallet.
The wallet looked new and expensive. My eyes narrowed with suspicion, but then I saw that it was embossed in gold A.W., and his pet insurance card appeared valid.
I couldn’t figure him out.
“Also I’ll need you to fill out some forms. I noticed Stan’s never been neutered?”
He grimaced and shook his head. I had to hold back a smile—many men reacted like that. Besides, Stan was too old for the procedure now.
I glanced at my new client thoughtfully.
“And Mr. Winters, bacon and eggs is not a healthy daily diet for Stan. He needs suitable food for a senior dog. How old did you say he is?”
I winced at the word ‘say’ but covered it up quickly, turning to the wall-mounted computer screen to see what information Ashley had already entered.
“Ah, he’s about nine or ten. A rescue dog. Where did you find him?”
I kicked myself for forgetting again that I needed to stick to questions that could be answered with a nod or a headshake. I moved on quickly.
“Well, he seems fine, given his age. But you really should improve his diet. I’ll give him a shot now. It’s a three-in-one: painkiller, anti-inflammatory and mild antibiotic. That will make him more comfortable until we can take care of those gums and teeth.”
I stroked Stan’s head and he nuzzled my hand.
For a second, I thought I saw the man smile, although it was hard to tell behind his bushy beard, but after I’d given Stan his shot, he simply nodded at me and lifted him down from the examination table.
“How’d that go?” Ashley asked brightly as we walked out with Stan.
“Fine,” I said flatly, then scheduled the next appointment while Mr. Winters stood beside me, a silent, looming presence.

I couldn’t get Mr. Winters out of my head. When I’d met him this morning by the lake, I was so certain that he was dangerous, but now I saw all his actions in a completely different light and I was ashamed of my assumptions and reactions.
Of course he’d been angry when we first met. I was trespassing on his land and had even told him off for being there. I’d misread his silence, too. And all the time, he’d been stuck standing naked in the water because I was ridiculing his clothes.
My skin felt hot at the memory. I was ashamed of myself, but I couldn’t quite dispel a quiver of interest at the hardness of his body, the obvious masculine strength. It had been a while since I’d seen something that good in real life. Not since college, unless it was some actor on TV.
Everything about him was a contradiction. His expensive-looking wallet and premium pet insurance; his rusting truck and his ragged clothes—and the fact that he’d apparently paid cash for Old Joe’s cabin—no mortgage required, or so Ashley told me. She’d heard it from Jenny who worked for the town’s only attorney Simeon Spender, the man who’d handled Old Joe’s estate, so I guess it really was true.
No one knew what had brought him to Girard, Pennsylvania, population 3,065. On the few occasions he was seen in town, he hadn’t spoken to anyone or even tried to. Of course, now I knew why, but the town had decided that he was ‘strange’, ‘a recluse’ or even ‘creepy’.
I wondered if anyone else had sensed his loneliness and isolation behind that forbidding appearance. Did he hide because of his stutter, or was there something else?
I dreamed about him that night. Totally inappropriate dreams for a respectable single mother who rarely dated and whose eight year-old daughter was sleeping in the next room.
I woke up ratty, in a bad mood and stupidly aroused. Not a great combination. So, I pushed the thoughts from my mind as I dropped Katie off at her friend’s house, and then headed to work, thankful that I was only doing a half-day today. During school vacations, Gary let me work part-time as much as possible.
I arrived just as Ashley was parking her Honda, but she didn’t get out of the car, instead she waved to catch my attention, pointed behind me, then ducked down, peering over her steering wheel.
I soon saw the reason. Mr. Winters’ was climbing out of his rusting truck, a large cardboard box in his hands. He placed it by the office front door and then walked away. I saw him glance in our direction, and I felt hugely embarrassed that he’d seen us cowering in the parking lot, but his long hair fell across his face, screening his expression, so I couldn’t tell what he thought about our crazy behavior.
When he sped away in his battered pickup, I realized that I’d been holding my breath.
Ashley gave a theatrical shudder as she climbed out of her car.
“Ugh, that guy gives me the creeps. What do you think is in the box? Oh God, don’t open it! It might be a head!”
I didn’t bother to answer, instead cautiously lifting one of the flaps.
I jumped back with a squeal, and Ashley shrieked. A sudden flutter of wings had startled me.
Sitting in a nest of torn up rags was a Golden Eagle, very young, its flight feathers still fluffy, and its left wing obviously broken as it trailed next to him, the poor bird crying loudly.
I sent Ashley to find a pet carrier and took my latest customer inside.
Some people think it’s not possible to mend a bird’s broken wing, but if you’re careful and patient, they can make a full recovery.
Golden Eagles were rare around here and protected, but there were a few. Mr. Winters must have found this one in the forest.
I suppose I wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t stayed to speak to us, but I was taken aback to find a note in neat handwriting offering to pay for the young eagle’s treatment.
The bird didn’t have any other injuries, so I cut a 12 inch strip of veterinarian bandaging tape, a special type that doesn’t stick to fur or feathers. Then, as gently as possible, given the bird’s distressed squawks, I folded the broken wing against his side in the most natural position I could manage, while avoiding his sharp beak. Then I strapped the wing to his body and asked Ashley to call the aviary veterinarian in Pittsburg. In three or four weeks, the bird would be good as new. I hoped.
It was lucky that Mr. Winters had found him. He wouldn’t have survived in the wild like that.
For such a big man, he was incredibly gentle.
And that intrigued me even more.

Jane is a writer of contemporary romance fiction, known for thoughtful stories, often touching on difficult subjects: disability (DANGEROUS TO KNOW & LOVE, SLAVE TO THE RHYTHM); mental illness (THE EDUCATION OF CAROLINE, SEMPER FI); life after prison (LIFERS); dyslexia (THE TRAVELING MAN, THE TRAVELING WOMAN).

She is also a campaigner for former military personnel to receive the support they need on leaving the services. She wrote the well-received play LATER, AFTER with former veteran Mike Speirs. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hk1CyB8c0xA )

Author Links

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Excerpt Reveal ~ Dirty Dealers ~ by ~ Tia Louise

Dirty. Sexy. Deadly.
Dirty Dealers by Tia Louise arrives on January 24th!
Keep reading for a seriously sexy excerpt!

Photographer: Sara Eirew Photographer
Cover Design: Hang Le

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Blurb:

My job is to protect.
I’m the best, the king’s elite.
She’s the only thing strong enough to make me look away.

Logan Hunt is a guard. He’s constantly aware of his surroundings; he knows every angle; he searches and rescues. He’ll take a bullet.

His new assignment is to protect the queen regent, keep his eyes on her at all times. He’s more than up to the task…

Until a face from his past returns, and the one mission he’s sworn to complete becomes his biggest liability.

DIRTY DEALERS is an all-new stand-alone CONTEMPORARY ROMANTIC SUSPENSE coming Jan 24, 2017. It features secrets, lies, double-crosses, angst, a touch of darkness, and panty-melting sexytimes.

EXCERPT:

Logan

Her ankle turns, and Kass starts to fall. One swift move, and I scoop her up, into my arms.

“Oh!” she cries, gripping my biceps.

Her soft body is pressed against me, and her face is right at my chin. Her breath comes in quick pants, causing her breasts to rise and fall just beneath the thin material of her dress. With her sweater pushed back, I can see she’s not wearing a bra, and all the lust I’ve been fighting shoots straight to my cock.

I know she feels it. Her lids lower, and her eyes are trained on my mouth. Her lips part, and I can just see the tips of her white teeth when she speaks, low and breathless. “Thank you.”

Desire overrules my brain, and I don’t stop myself. I pull her to me, covering her mouth with mine. It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s rough and punishing. It’s all the anger and the hurt and the worry she’s put me through these last days.

She meets me with equal strength. Her mouth moves with mine, and she tastes like mint and cool water. A little noise aches from her throat and fuck me, my dick gets harder. She’s soft in my arms, and my stomach fills with warmth, desire, possession.

How can I still want her so badly? She used me.

Breaking our lips apart, I look up at the sky. It’s thick with grey, swirling clouds. It mirrors the storm in my chest.

Kass’s forehead drops to my neck. She’s panting, and I feel her beaded nipples against my chest. I want to pull them into my mouth and suck them until she moans. I want to lower my pants and lift her skirt. I want to shove her panties aside and fuck her right here on this beach. I want it to be hard and angry. I want her begging me to forgive her, begging me for more.

I can see the whole thing, and it takes all my willpower to step back.

“I’m sorry.” I hold her arms until I’m sure she has her balance, until I’m back in control. “I’ll escort you to the house.”

“Yes.” Her voice is breathless.

About the Author:

The “Queen of Hot Romance,” Tia Louise is the Award-Winning, International Bestselling author of the ONE TO HOLD series.

From “Readers’ Choice” nominations, to picking up USA Today “Happily Ever After” nods, to winning “Favorite Erotica Author” (2015) and the “Lady Boner Award” (2014) (LOL!), nothing makes her happier than communicating with fans and weaving new tales into the Alexander-Knight world of stories.

A former journalist, Louise lives in the center of the USA with her lovely family and one grumpy cat. There, she dreams up stories she hopes are engaging, hot, and sexy, and that cause readers rethink common public locations…

Connect with Tia!

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Excerpt Reveal ~ A Veil of Vines ~ by ~ Tillie Cole

To most people, princes, princesses, counts and dukes are found only in the pages of the most famous of fairytales. Crowns, priceless jewels and gilded thrones belong only in childhood dreams.
But for some, these frivolous fancies are truth.
For some, they are real life.
On Manhattan’s Upper East Side, people have always treated me as someone special. All because of my ancestral name and legacy. All because of a connection I share to our home country’s most important family of all.
I am Caresa Acardi, the Duchessa di Parma. A blue blood of Italy. I was born to marry well. And now the marriage date is set.
I am to marry into House Savona. The family that would have been the royals had Italy not abolished the monarchy in 1946. But to the aristocrats of my home, the abolition means nothing at all.
The Savonas still hold power where it counts most.
In our tight-knit world of money, status and masked balls, they are everything and more.
And I am soon to become one of them.
I am soon to become Prince Zeno Savona’s wife…
… or at least I was, until I met Achille.
And everything changed.

Caresa

I closed my eyes as the music pounded through my body. The air was sticky from the mass of bodies on the dance floor. My body swayed to the beat, my feet ached from the five-inch Louboutin heels I was wearing, and my skin was flushed from the copious amounts of 1990 Dom Pérignon I had consumed.
“Caresa!” My name split through the harsh sound of drums and synthesized piano notes. I rolled my eyes open and looked across our cornered-off section of the club at my best friend.
Marietta was sitting on an oversized plush couch, waving a new bottle of champagne in my direction. Laughing, I followed my throbbing feet to where she sat and slumped down beside her. In seconds, a champagne flute was in my hand and the bubbly was flowing once more.
Marietta sat forward, swishing her long blond hair over her shoulder. She raised her glass as though she was going to make a toast. But instead, her bottom lip jutted out into a pathetic pout.
I tipped my head to one side, silently asking her what was wrong.
“I was going to make a toast to the Duchessa di Parma, my very best friend,” she shouted over a new but similar-to-the-last song. “To my best friend leaving me here in dull old New York to go marry a real-life godforsaken prince in Italy.” Marietta sighed and her shoulders slumped. “But I don’t want to. Because that would mean this night is almost over, and tomorrow I lose my partner-in-crime.” A sudden sadness bloomed in my chest at her words. Then, when her eyes filled with tears, those words became a punch in the gut.
Placing my glass on the table before us, I moved forward and put my hand on her arm. “Marietta, don’t get upset.”
She put down her own drink and grabbed my hand. “I just don’t want to lose you.”
My stomach rolled. “I know,” I said. Then I didn’t say anything else, but I could see Marietta register my unspoken words. I don’t want to go either.
Keeping my hand in hers, I slumped back against the couch and let my eyes drift over the busy dance floor below. I watched the throng of Upper East Siders losing themselves in the music. A pang of fear swept through me.
This really would be my last night in New York. In the morning, I would fly to Italy, where I would live from that day on.
Marietta shuffled closer to me and cast me a watery smile. “How are you doing?” she asked as she squeezed my hand.
“I’m okay. Just nervous, I guess.”
Marietta nodded her head. “And your papa?”
I sighed. “Ecstatic. Overjoyed that his precious daughter will be marrying the prince he chose for me as a child.” I felt a pang of guilt for speaking about him so negatively. “That was uncalled for,” I said. “You know as well as I do, Baroness von Todesco” —Marietta scowled playfully at my use of her title— “that we don’t really get a choice in whom we marry.” I leaned forward and picked up my champagne. I took a long swig, enjoying the feel of the bubbles traveling down my throat. I handed Marietta her glass and raised mine in the air. “To arranged marriages and duty over love!”
Marietta laughed and clinked her glass with mine. “But seriously,” Marietta said, “are you okay? Truly okay?”
I shrugged. “I honestly don’t know how to answer that, Etta. Am I okay with the arranged marriage? I suppose so. Am I okay with moving to Italy permanently? Not really. I love Italy—it’s my home, I was born there—but it’s not New York. Everyone I know is here in America.” Marietta’s eyes softened with sympathy. “And am I okay with marrying Zeno Savona? The infamous Playboy Prince of Toscana?” I took a deep breath. “I have no idea. I guess that will become apparent in the next three months.”
“In your ‘courting period,’” Marietta said using air quotes, and snorted with laughter. “What a joke. What twenty-three-year-old woman and twenty-six-year-old man need a courting period?”
I laughed at her sassy tone, but then soberly replied, “Ones who don’t know each other at all? Ones who have to see if they can stand each other’s company before sealing their marital fates forever?”
Marietta shuffled closer. “You know as well as I do that you could hate this so-called prince, detest everything he is—and he you—and I’d still be your maid of honor at your wedding on New Year’s Eve.” She sputtered a laugh. “The very fact that the date has been set says it all. This marriage is happening.” Marietta held up her glass, got to her feet and, with arms spread wide, shouted, “Welcome to the life of the European blue bloods of the Upper East Side! Drowning in Prada and Gucci, dripping in diamonds, but having no free will to call our own!”
I laughed, pulling her back down. She broke into hysterics as her ass hit the couch, spilling champagne all over the expensive upholstery. But our laughter waned as the house lights came on one by one. The last of the dance music drifted into silence, and the rich patrons of Manhattan’s most exclusive nightclub began making their way to their limos and town cars. It was three o’clock in the morning, and I had six hours left in the city I loved beyond measure.

Tillie Cole hails from a small town in the North-East of England. She grew up on a farm with her English mother, Scottish father and older sister and a multitude of rescue animals. As soon as she could, Tillie left her rural roots for the bright lights of the big city.

After graduating from Newcastle University with a BA Hons in Religious Studies, Tillie followed her Professional Rugby player husband around the world for a decade, becoming a teacher in between and thoroughly enjoyed teaching High School students Social Studies before putting pen to paper, and finishing her first novel.

Tillie has now settled in Austin, Texas, where she is finally able to sit down and write, throwing herself into fantasy worlds and the fabulous minds of her characters.

Tillie is both an independent and traditionally published author, and writes many genres including: Contemporary Romance, Dark Romance, Young Adult and New Adult novels.

When she is not writing, Tillie enjoys nothing more than curling up on her couch watching movies, drinking far too much coffee, while convincing herself that she really doesn’t need that extra square of chocolate.

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Excerpt Reveal ~ The Risk ~ by ~ S.T. Abby

**THE RISK (MindF*ck Series Book 1)**

RELEASING DECEMBER 1ST

by

S.T. Abby

Genre: Dark Romance

I didn’t expect him. I didn’t want to fall in love.
But I can’t let him go.
Logan Bennett makes the world a safer place.
He’s brilliant. He’s a hero.
He locks away the sick and depraved.
But while he’s saving lives, I’m taking them.
Collecting debts that are owed to me.
Then years ago, they took from me.
They left me for dead, They should have made sure I stayed dead.
Now I’m taking from them, one name at a time.
I’ve trained for too long. I’ve been patient. I can’t stop now.
Revenge is best served cold. They never see me coming. Until I paint their walls red.
Logan doesn’t know how they hurt me.
He doesn’t know about the screams they ignored.
He doesn’t know how twisted that town really is.
He just knows people are dying.
He doesn’t know he’s in love with their killer.
No one suspects a dead girl.
And Logan doesn’t suspect the girl in his bed.
They’re looking for a monster.
Not a girl who loves red. Not a girl in love.
I’m a faceless nightmare.
They took too much. Left too little.
I had nothing to lose. Until him.
But in the end, will he choose them?
Or will we watch them burn together?

So many names left to go…

Einstein said, “The weak revenge. The strong forgive. The intelligent ignore.”
Fuck that. Einstein wasn’t always right.

Revenge is a dish best served cold… Now that I agree with. It means they forget you’re coming for them, and their screams sound so much prettier when the time finally comes.

Chapter 1

I love humanity but I hate humans.
-Albert Einstein

LANA

“You look like you’ve been stood up,” a guy says as I peer up from my phone, discreetly clicking the lock screen into place so he can’t see what I’m watching.
I arch an eyebrow as I study him. Good looking, mid-twenties, arrogant smile, dominant posture… He’s definitely barking up the wrong tree though.
“Actually, I enjoy eating alone,” I tell him with a fuck-off, sweet smile.
He doesn’t take the hint, because his eyes narrow with determination. Alphas prefer a challenge. I should have known better.
“I’m Craig. You’re…” He lets his words trail off as he rakes his eyes over me, but I say nothing before sipping my coffee. “If you don’t give me your name, I’ll just call you Beauty.”
How original.
His attempt at flattery is overtly untrained and certainly underdeveloped. He’s obviously used to getting his way without much of a fuss, which means he never puts forth any effort after catching his prize either. Considering his expensive suit and visible appeal, I’m not surprised.
Plenty of women will overlook his arrogance, confusing it for cockiness, possibly even find it charming.
But I’m the wrong girl.
“How about calling me Not Interested? Because that’s the most apt depiction of me at the moment,” I tell him, leaning back in my chair, relaxed and fully in control.
“Apparently you haven’t gotten a good look,” he proceeds, leaning back and pretty much posing in a stance that gives me nothing more to look at than an arrogant ass.
“I’ve seen more than enough. Still not interested.”
His look darkens as he takes a step back.
“Fine. Fuck it. I don’t need frostbite on my dick anyway,” he says before turning and walking toward a table where another guy is sitting.
The sun is not bright today, considering the overcast. We’re just a few of the people who opted for the patio instead of the inside of the coffee house, because it looks like it’s going to rain. Even though they’re several tables away, I can still see his friend laughing and shaking his head as Mr. Arrogant plops down to his seat, surly and dejected.
I resume watching the footage on my phone, until I feel eyes on me. Mr. Arrogant’s friend doesn’t look away when I look up and catch him studying me. He’s not leering or even acting interested. I’d say he’s trying to read me, just the way I do people.
He’s also nice looking, but his suit is not as expensive as the other guy’s. My observation would lead me to believe they’re work mates, but why is one dressed better than the other if they do the same job? He doesn’t seem submissive or weighted, the way he would if he was working for Mr. Arrogant. Which means they’re equals, but not paid the same? Or maybe Mr. Arrogant comes from money, and this guy doesn’t?
Unconcerned, I return my eyes to my phone, pretending I don’t notice his intense scrutiny. After finishing my coffee and my D-day screening, I ask the waitress for the bill.
“It’s already been paid,” she says with a soft smile and bright eyes. “And you’ve already left a tip as well,” she adds, winking. “A nice one.”
My eyebrows go up, and she motions back with her head as Mr. Arrogant’s friend walks off the patio. Mr. Arrogant is nowhere to be found.
“He said to thank you for the entertainment,” she proceeds to tell me while fanning herself and watching him walk toward a dark SUV.
“Thanks,” I tell her, standing up and heading toward the exit as well.
No flirting, no leering looks of longing, and no waiting around to see if I would come to him after he paid for my food. I don’t like it when people are nice for no reason. Saying I was his entertainment isn’t enough.
My eyes trail after the silent guy, watching him as he lingers by the SUV, speaking over the phone too quietly for me to hear his words from this distance. I also spot Mr. Arrogant, who is chatting up a pretty girl near the store down the sidewalk. She seems far more interested than I was.
Deciding to appease my curiosity, I head over to the silent guy just as he ends his call. His eyes snap up to mine as I approach, and his eyebrows raise as I pull out a twenty.
“I don’t let strange men pay for my food. My mother taught me better,” I tell him, waving the twenty in front of him to take.
A slow grin crawls across his full lips, completely transforming his face. His dark blonde hair is tousled just enough to be sexy without being bedhead messy. His strong, chiseled jaw is a stark contrast to his soft, blue eyes. He looks fierce and gentle in the same breath, confusing me all the more. I really can’t get a read on him.
“I couldn’t get a more entertaining show for so cheap. Trust me, it was worth the small bill,” he says with a shrug, pocketing his hands and phone, making a stance that he won’t take my money, without using the actual words.
But I’m persistent, and I wave the twenty again. “I still have my rules. Thanks, but no thanks.”
His grin only grows. “You always so defensive?” he muses. “Are you constantly worried about the intentions of others? Or is it an extreme feminist position that keeps you on edge about a man doing something as mediocre as paying for your coffee and muffin?”
He is reading me. I knew it.
The cheap suit suddenly makes sense, along with the dark SUV. “You’re FBI,” I note, taking in the fact Quantico isn’t too far away.
His grin broadens. “What makes you think that?”
“You’re profiling me, for one, which would likely put you to be somewhere in that field, given the ride and attire. Your friend has an expensive suit that he wears to impress, but yours is less flashy. Your posture around him and good-natured ribbing towards him leads me to believe you’re equals, despite the financial difference. So I’m assuming he comes from money, and you’ve earned your own way. The SUV isn’t a standardized version. The blacked out windows are too dark to be legally tinted, but I know the FBI are given certain leniencies due to security risks. So am I right?”
I really hate the way he continues to smile, as though he’s only more intrigued instead of freaked out. I wanted to freak him out.
“You’re not a paid profiler, not FBI, and not affiliated with any military unit,” he says, confusing me. “Your outfit is bohemian chic, meaning you’re less worried about your outward appearance and more concerned with comfort. You sit alone by choice, and dismiss any attention sent your way. At first glance, you’re too feminist for your own good. At second glance, you’re someone who is hard to get close to because trust isn’t something you share too often. It keeps you from being hurt by people, but it also keeps you from having anyone in your life. At night, when you close your eyes and allow yourself to be vulnerable…that’s the only time you dare to wonder what it’d be like to be with someone.”
I swallow down the knot in my throat. He’s too dead-on. I shouldn’t be so easily readable. I’ve trained against it for years.
“No pets, given the fact there’s not any pet hair on you, unless you have those who won’t shed. However, I don’t see you allowing yourself to become attached to an animal, when you know you’ll most likely outlive it and have to deal with the heartbreak of losing said animal. You’re detached by necessity, most likely a painful past that pushed you into this direction. A loss, perhaps. Maybe more than one loss. Maybe pushed into solitude by life and staying there by choice?”
When my heart thumps in my chest and I take a shaky step back, his eyes soften even more.
“Sorry. I went too far. I apologize,” he tells me just as Mr. Arrogant returns.
“Haven’t lost my edge. That chick was just—”
His words die when he sees me in an eye-lock with Mr. Profiler. I feel exposed, vulnerable, and out of my element. I’m not used to that. I’ve worked so freaking hard to be a fortress of impossible reads.
He just unraveled my confidence with one pull on the right thread.
“Grab a few bottles of water. Long ride,” he tells Mr. Arrogant without looking away from me.
I don’t know if he leaves or not, because I’m too busy staring right into those gentle blue eyes that really do seem remorseful.
“Life sucks,” he says randomly. “Then you die. Might as well live while you’re still alive,” he adds, sounding completely less insightful than earlier.
It’s enough to break the tension, and an unexpected smile slips free from me. He winks as he leans over. “If you ever want help feeling alive, call me. I could use some life as well.”
When he draws back, I feel something in my hand, though I never felt him placing anything there. He walks around to the other side of the SUV, and I watch with rapt attention as he gets in.
My eyes finally fall down to the card in my hand as Mr. Arrogant returns to take the passenger side.
Logan Bennett…
His number is attached to his name, and sure enough, he’s FBI. When my gaze comes up again, he’s leaning on the steering wheel, watching me. Mr. Arrogant’s window is down, and he looks annoyed.
“Call me,” Logan says, grinning before pulling away from the curb.
Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a persistent one. Albert Einstein said that. My father always quoted Einstein as a way of explaining life when we struggled to understand it. I remember him quoting me that when our lives fell apart. He was hurting the worst, and trying his best to soothe me.
Einstein isn’t helping me understand how easily I was just read. Or how vulnerable and exposed I feel in this moment.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I look down, seeing the alert I set.
I have to be cold. I need to be cold. Anything less could fracture the shell in place that I need to execute the plan I’ve worked too hard on for too long.
Shaking off the residual weakness, I blow out a harsh breath and walk to my car. I drive fifteen miles, find the house I’m looking for, and drive on by. I wait until I’m parked in an abandoned barn before I put on my gloves, suit, and heavy men’s boots. I also strap on the backpacks weighted down with rocks… One on my back and one on my front.
Stealthily, I walk toward the house, slip open the door, and silently remove the backpacks, putting them down with careful ease to a chair.
My purse has everything I need in it, so I keep it on me. The heavy shoes come off next, and I silently place them on top of my backpack.
Movement upstairs draws my attention, and I slowly make my way to the staircase, careful to keep my steps light and silent. I’ve examined the floors for a month, finding every spot that creaks or groans.
I know his routine better than my own. Just like I know in five seconds, the water will come on.
Sure enough, the old pipes in the house clank as water shoots through them, and that’s when I make my way up the stairs, ignoring the way they creak, because he can’t hear a thing with that loud shower.
When I reach his room, my eyes dart to the bed. I know he’s single, but I always worry about stumbling across an unplanned woman. I watched the cameras from my phone, and they showed no woman here, but it’s still a thought that always plagues the back of my mind.
I breathe out in relief when I see no signs of an overnight guest. Just Ben and his usual messy home.
The shower cuts off, and I’m already in position, ready and waiting. Life would be simpler if I could use a Taser or sedatives. It really would.
Just as he walks through with a towel around his waist, my knife comes down, slicing hard against the Achilles heel. Screams pierce my ears, and I realize that moment of weakness with Mr. Profiler earlier doesn’t affect how pretty the screams sound.
I’ve worked too long, too hard, and too endlessly for this. I should have known one man couldn’t take away my edge.
Ben falls to the floor, crying out in agony, while clutching his foot. The towel flops off, exposing every naked inch of him to my eyes.
It makes my stomach roil.
But the terror in his eyes? That gets me high.
“What the fuck? Take whatever you want!” he shouts, sobbing as I approach, watching me with those wide, terrified eyes.
I get off on the terror. I want him to cry for much, much longer.
“What I want is for you to know my name,” I say quietly, eerily.
His eyes grow even wider, and he pales when I hold the bloody knife up and run my finger along the backside of it.
“Please don’t,” he begs, trying and failing to stand up.
He’ll hit me if he gets the chance. I’m not stupid enough to get that close just yet.
I pull the wire from my back pocket, and I watch him as he watches me.
“Don’t recognize me, Ben?” I ask mockingly, cocking my head. Ten surgeries ago, he might have recognized me immediately.
“No. No,” he cries. “I don’t know you. You have the wrong person!”
I squat down, noticing the way his gaze shifts. He’s preparing to attack me now that I’m in this position. He finds it a vulnerable mistake on my part.
If he only knew…
“I was a sixteen-year-old little girl the last time you saw me,” I say with a dark smile. “I’m all grown up now. Want to play?”
The last three words are what triggers recognition. I see it in the way his pupils dilate, his nostrils flare, and a sense of understanding washes over his features.
“You,” he whispers. “No. No. You look nothing like her. She died,” he adds in the same hushed tone.
“I survived,” I say back, watching as his fear slowly starts to fade, just as I knew it would.
Right now, he’s remembering just how weak I was as that horrified, terrified, sobbing little girl. He’s remembering how easily he overpowered me. His mind is playing tricks on him that he’s still the one in control, despite the precariously deadly situation.
“You took three turns,” I go on, staying poised and ready, but outwardly displaying a weakness I don’t truly have, allowing his mind to continue to revert back to that night ten years ago.
“That means three pounds of flesh over the next three days,” I go on.
I see it happening before he launches himself at me, screaming in pain as he tries to tackle me to the floor. My knife slams into his shoulder, and another bloodcurdling scream erupts through the air as I spin on my knees, sliding in behind him as his face plants into the floor.
My hand is still holding the knife, and I rip it away in less than a blink, almost simultaneously tossing the wire around his neck, winding it tightly. Then I choke him, reveling in the pained sounds, until he grows limp and unconscious, riding the line of life and death. With the blood loss, he’s too weak to fight back. It’d be so easy to kill him right now.
But death won’t come too soon.
I don’t believe in mercy.
Three pounds of flesh will be extracted while he’s awake.
He’ll beg and plead.
He’ll pray to pass out.
But he will feel it all.
Just like we did.

Email me when this goes live

S.T. Abby is typically a Rom Com author and has several best selling books under her name. She has chosen to branch out and embrace her dark side under the pen name S.T. Abby. Get it….. STABBY

The MindF*ck Series will be her first venture into the world of Dark Romance. They are not your typical dark reads. They have a twist !!

https://www.facebook.com/stabbyauthor/

Excerpt Reveal ~ Own ~ by ~ K.I. Lynn & N. Isabelle Blanco

Own by K.I. Lynn & N. Isabelle Blanco is the highly anticipated conclusion to the Need Series and releases on November 28th!

Pre-order your copy at:

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2ewafgy

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2em4sud

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2eIE8Gh

Excerpt

Why the fuck is Kira at this party?

Stupid question.

I have no right to begrudge her this. She should be here, having fun, experiencing college to the fullest.

It just burns that she came here without telling me. That she didn’t even think of inviting me.

That she’s pushing me away while making time to sit on the grass with Austin.

If Dana hadn’t told Ryan to call me, I wouldn’t have known Kira was here.

This party is taking place in one of the student’s homes—a mansion so fucking big, it’s bordering on ridiculous.

I’m never going to find Kira here, and according to what Dana told Ryan, Kira’s shitfaced. Drunk out of her mind.

And Dana lost her.

Growling under my breath, I push past the crowd, ignoring every drunk girl who tries to grope me.

Sometimes I wonder how I ever got high off this kind of attention. How my ego fed on it. It’s annoying as fuck.

I’ve already checked the large ass kitchen. Two of the sitting rooms. The foyer. The pool room. And almost every room upstairs.

I get a text from Dana. Marilyn just spotted her going into the movie theater on the first floor. OMW there now.

Of course this place has a movie theater, too.

Fucking ridiculous, as I said.

I about-face and practically fly down the stairs. I have no idea where the hell the movie theater is, so I grab a few people as I walk and ask them.

All of them are as clueless as I am.

They look at me as if I’m crazy.

To them, I probably look like I am.

Finally, I find one person who knows. Don’t know who he is, don’t care. He points me in the right direction, and I rush away without even thanking him.

The theater is all the way in the back of the house, in an area that’s actually empty. I get there in time to see Dana opening the door and rushing in.

Man, she’s an awesome girl. I could never thank her enough for caring for Kira the way she obviously does.

I go inside and find the small theater empty, except for Dana, Marilyn . . .

And Kira.

My breath whooshes out of me at the sight of her. I’m instantly hard, aching, furious, and possessive.

We haven’t fucked in days and I’d be lying if I said my balls aren’t full to bursting. I need sex right now like I need air and she’s the only person to give it to me.

But she came here, in that tiny, dark purple dress.

I have no right to tell her how to dress–but what the fuck is she doing coming to a party dressed like that without me?

Kira’s leaning against one of the chairs all the way at the front of the theater, refusing to move despite Marilyn urging her.

It’s obvious she really is drunk as a motherfucker.

“I just want to be alone, guys,” she says, almost whining.

I refuse to be amused. Now’s not the time. I’m too pissed at her.

But, fuck me. She’s sexy, adorable, and those lips are begging for my cock.

“I know, sweetie. But it’s not good for you to be alone right now.”

Kira swats Marilyn away. “Stop your shit, woman. You’re not my mother.”

Even Dana laughs at that one.

“She’s not. But I’m your man. And I say you’re not going to be alone.”

They all turn to stare at me as I walk down the short steps toward them.

Kira’s eyes flare with resentment.

With lust.

She rakes me with a cold stare that still manages to burn my entire body with how hungry it is.

Damn. If any of these girls just happen to look down a bit, they’re going to get an eyeful of how hard my dick is.

“I don’t want you here, either.” She swats me away like an imperious little queen.

“Girls. Leave us.”

Marilyn and Dana hesitate at my tone.

I don’t have time for this shit. “Now.”

Dana snaps to action first and leads Marilyn up the stairs and out of the theater.

Kira’s still looking at me with that rebellious hunger, a lust-filled sneer on her face.

I have no qualms about reaching down and palming my dick in front of her.

Her eyes flare hungrily.

“We’re leaving, Kitty. Now.” I can’t fuck her until she sobers up considering how angry at me she is, but I’m getting her home.

Kira steps toward me and stumbles at bit.

I rush forward and catch her, pulling her up against me.

Contact. Seering, torturous contact. I have my arms wrapped around her, my hands on her ass, before I realize what I’m doing. As always, it’s an instant reaction. Absolutely zero control over my own body.

Kira pushes at my chest and that sexy small growl she gives me turns me on so much. “Don’t touch me.”

My barely leashed temper snaps free. “Like hell. You’re mine.”

She struggles against me, her body sliding along mine. “Excuse me if I don’t want to go back to fucking the dick I’ve seen inside Jennifer two too many times.”

She’s hurting. I get it. Shit, I’d be even more feral in her shoes.

But I’ll be damned if I let her pretend she doesn’t want me anymore.

Fisting her hair, I slide my other hand under her dress and roughly shove her panties to side.

Kira lets out a broken gasp at the feel of my fingers slipping inside her.

I move them around on purpose so she can hear how wet she is. “Lie to me again. Tell me you don’t want me,” I growl in her face.

Her arms wind around my neck and she slams her lips against mine. Growling at me like she hates me and wants to eat me at the same time, she kisses me with everything she has.

Owning me.

Trying to control me.

I want nothing more than to show her who’s fucking in charge here, but she’s licking my tongue like it’s the tip of my dick, and her hips are thrusting up and down, fucking my fingers.

Using me for her pleasure.

Her body locks up, her plump pussy swelling around my fingers. A throb, a rush of liquid, and she’s squirting into my hand, her sexy moans echoing between our lips.

God damn.

I manhandle her, my mind cracking under the pressure of so much need. Spinning, I fall to my knees on the short steps and place her beneath me.

The steps are short but they’re huge. Enough to accommodate her lower body on one.

Kira leans back with her elbows on the step above her. Head thrown back, gorgeous throat exposed, she struggles to pull in air.

I lean back on my haunches and yank my belt open.

The sound makes her raise her head. By the time her eyes are on my crotch, I already have my glistening cock out in my hand.

She whispers my name like a prayer.

Finally.

This is what I need. No more distance. No more pain. Just her and her nearly demonic need to have me.

And I need this even more.

I grab her thighs and tug her toward me. Kira says my name again. Her hands land on my shoulders, fisting my shirt.

I spread her legs wide, wider than I probably should, and slide that juicy cunt right onto my dick.

Her body arches off the stairs like she’s being possessed.

She is.

If I haven’t left enough of me inside her for her to understand—for her to accept—that I own her and always will . . .

I’m going to remedy that.

And there’s nothing she can do about it.

I pull my hips back, slow, hissing at the slick feel of her pussy walls tightening. Trying to keep me in.

Kira whimpers, clenching me even harder.

Wanting to let me go and powerless to do anything but keep me.

Using all my strength, I slam back into her.

One hard, vicious thrust.

She cries out and comes all over me.

Again.

Just like that.

I crack my neck, a growl purring through my chest, and lay into her. No mercy. No thought.

I’m close. Just a few more pumps into that slick cunt.

Kira fists my hair, her moans bouncing off the walls around us. I lower myself down and brace my elbows on either side of her head.

She tries to tug me down and kiss me.

I slide one hand beneath her head, fisting that beautiful hair, and drag her up to me. “Who told you that you could come here dressed like that?”

She bites my lip hard enough to make my vision snap white. I think I taste blood. “Fuck you. You don’t own m—” She chokes on her words with my next thrust.

I can’t stop groaning, yet somehow I’m laughing in her face at the ridiculousness of her statement. “You want to keep fucking lying to yourself, Kitty?”

She hisses like the wild cat she is and leans up to lick across my bottom lip. When she pulls back, I see it.

Her lips are stained with the blood she drew from me.

I press my lips to her, our tongues dueling. We’re nothing but a mindless mass of sex, and I can feel the come rising up my shaft.

In the back of my head, it registers that I hear people speaking.

Drawing closer.

On the other side of the door.

“That bitch ruined my life!”

“First off, don’t ever call her a bitch in front of me. Got it? Secondly, you have no proof it was her that sent your parents that video. Third, back the fuck off, or I’m going to forget we were ever—”

The door opens.

I raise my head enough to look up. For a split second, the fact that we’ve been caught freezes me.

Then I see two pairs of familiar blue eyes locked on us.

Jennifer.

Austin.

Blurb

Kira’s finally mine.

Mine.

And nobody and nothing is going to take her from me. I’ll fight for her, to the death. Do anything for her.

There’s no more living without her. No more holding back my feelings.

If only it was enough.

We’re surrounded every day.

Watched.

Stalked.

Judged.

Everyone knows us. Now, they suspect. The odds are stacked against us more than before.

We live in the shadows, hiding our love from the entire world.

But not for long.

I refuse to live like this anymore.

I’ll do whatever it takes to own her. I’m waging a dark war against those that stand against us.

And I will win.

That girl is going to be mine forever, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

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K.I. Lynn is the USA Today Bestselling Author from The Bend Anthology and the Amazon Bestselling Series, Breach. She spent her life in the arts, everything from music to painting and ceramics, then to writing. Characters have always run around in her head, acting out their stories, but it wasn’t until later in life she would put them to pen. It would turn out to be the one thing she was really passionate about.

Since she began posting stories online, she’s garnered acclaim for her diverse stories and hard hitting writing style. Two stories and characters are never the same, her brain moving through different ideas faster than she can write them down as it also plots its quest for world domination…or cheese. Whichever is easier to obtain… Usually it’s cheese.

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Isabelle Blanco was born in Queens, NY (USA). At the age of three, due to an odd fascination with studying her mother’s handwriting, she began to read and write. By the time she’d reached kindergarten, she had an extensive vocabulary and her obsession with words began to bleed into every aspect of her life.

Isabelle Blanco spends her days working as an author, web programmer, marketer, and graphic designer. That is when she isn’t handling her “spawn”, as she calls her son, and brainstorming with him about his future career as a comic book illustrator.

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