My Night with a Rockstar is a sexy rockstar charity anthology made up of exclusive short stories or preview short stories from each rockstar author. This anthology is NOW LIVE and will be available for a limited time only. All the digital proceeds benefiting Feeding America.
“Dante Crowne will ruin you for filthy hot alphas who just need a little love. Call me, Dante. Call me.” –Jana Aston, New York Times Bestselling Author
Crowne Rules, an all-new sizzling hot forced proximity standalone from New York Times bestselling author C.D. Reiss is available now!
What happens when fire and ice are forced into close proximity?
With the paparazzi hot on her heels, Mandy Bettencourt is desperate for somewhere to hide, and her best friend has just the place.
It’s perfect. No Internet. No phone. A deep bathtub she’s soaking in when HE shows up. Her best friend’s brother, Dante Crowne. Rich as a cardinal sin and handsome enough to piss off the devil. A man with a reputation for unforgettable bedroom games.
Mandy got an early taste of them in high school–for seven minutes in a closet. She can tell you, the rumors are all true.
Dante knows he’s got a reputation for a lot of things, including a love of solitude. But there’s a beautiful socialite in his bathtub, and the memory of those seven minutes isn’t inspiring him to kick her out. So he offers her a deal. If she wants to stay, she has to work. If she makes a mistake, she’s corrected with pink hand marks on her backside.
That’s the deal. Beg for it or leave it.
He’s surprised when she gets on her knees, and he’s even more surprised when she likes the punishment. The most shocking thing, though, is how much he’s starting to like her.
They can’t stay in paradise forever. Los Angeles awaits. But an old nemesis sets his sights on tearing them apart, and Dante may be the one left begging.
**Crowne Rules is a complete STANDALONE. You don’t have to read any of the Crowne Brothers books to pick this up, but you might want to once you’re done with Dante.**
As I scraped the last of the ice cream out of the corners, lightning flashed. Looking up, I noticed steam curling out of the bathroom door. One Samanda. Two Samanda. Three— Thunder cracked, and the water heater had probably done its job by now. When the water was so hot I could barely touch it, I plugged the tub and rooted around under the sink, finding a box of squat, white candles and a lighter and a red satin bag of bath bombs. I lit the candles and tossed a couple of bombs into the water, then threw in another for good measure. When the waterline was near the top, I shut off the faucet. My phone had been completely useless for miles already, and if there was Wi-Fi in the house, it was off, but I could still play music. I threw together a playlist of songs with a “fuck him” theme, put headphones on, and settled in, letting the line of scalding heat envelop me to the neck. Arms floating, I let the music take me away, singing along with a song about heartbreak and renewal, unable to hear my voice as much as feel it against the sobbing soreness of my throat. He broke my heart When I was so nice Forget that asshole I mean it, girl Forget him twice I belted it out not to the bathroom tiles, but to the Renaldo in my mind. He was begging to have me back, and I was toying with him, asking, “Why?” Why did he promise to leave his wife only to humiliate me? Turn me into an object of public disdain only to get on his hands and knees and literally kiss my feet? Not just him, but Caleb, who’d treated me like trash for years, and every guy after him who dumped me and then strung me along so they could dump me again. In my fantasy, I was telling them about all the other guys I was fucking and how little I cared about any of them. I was walking away from some faceless stud, sated and satisfied and totally unattached. I was never, ever going to get hurt again, and every time I started to cry again, I sang louder. “No, no, no-no!” I chanted with the music, waving my finger at my imaginary lover. “You ain’t that…” The lights went out, and I practically leapt out of the tub in shock, sliding my headphones away from one ear. A moment later, I realized what must have happened, and surprise turned to exasperation. Because, of course, this goddamn house couldn’t stand a thunderst— “Hello?” A man’s voice came from the darkened doorway. In a crouch, dripping wet, with female empowerment in one ear and his question in the other, I grabbed something, anything, in the dark and came up with a shampoo bottle. “I know tae kwon do,” I said in the general direction of the voice, standing up to wield the plastic bottle. “I’m sure.” The lights went back on with a click, and I could see the source of the voice. Fuck. Dante Crowne. Gray raincoat glinting with droplets of water, finger on the light switch, looking down at me from the top of Mount Six Foot Four. All the Crowne men had light eyes, but Dante’s were deeper set and the iciest blue I’d ever seen. “Hello, Amanda.” “It’s Mandy,” I said, pulling the headphones around my neck and lowering the shampoo. His gaze followed the poorly chosen weapon and took a circuitous route back upward by way of the naked triangle between my legs, my belly, my breasts. When his eyes landed on mine, there was desire there, but I could tell by the way he tightened his mouth that it was an easily dismissed interloper and not something he wanted to act on. “Logan said you’d be here,” he said. He wasn’t going to apologize for scaring me half to death and then checking me out without even admiring the view? “Well, he didn’t warn me about you,” I said. Lightning flickered, and I held my reply for the whipcrack of thunder one Samanda later. “Clearly,” Dante scoffed, looking my nudity over again. I turned for the towel, catching sight of myself in the mirror. I was splotched in patches of bubble. South America drifted down my hip. Dante grabbed the towel and handed it to me, eyes respectfully averted. I took it slowly, daring him to look again, and he took me up on the challenge, letting his gaze fall all over my body like a steamer pushed under a dress to relax the creases in every corner. “Logan sends his apologies, but this house is mine,” Dante said as I wrapped the white towel around myself. “And I need to use it this weekend.” “Your brother said it was a family house.” “Hm.” After the one syllable, he turned and left me alone in what was apparently his bathroom.
About CD Reiss CD Reiss is a New York Times bestseller. She still has to chop wood and carry water, which was buried in the fine print. Her lawyer is working it out with God but in the meantime, if you call and she doesn’t pick up she’s at the well hauling buckets. Born in New York City, she moved to Hollywood, California to get her master’s degree in screenwriting from USC. In case you want to know, that went nowhere but it did give her a big enough ego to write novels. She’s frequently referred to as the Shakespeare of Smut which is flattering but hasn’t ever gotten her out of chopping that cord of wood. If you meet her in person, you should call her Christine.
The Rookie, a must-read romantic suspense from USA Today bestselling author Kimberly Kincaid is available now!
Police recruit Xander Matthews wants two things: to help people and to keep his dark and dangerous past in his rear-view, where it belongs. He never thought he’d see brash, beautiful A.D.A. Tara Kingston after she tried to prosecute him two years ago.
Yet here she is, smack in the middle of a crime scene and now they have to work together to catch a killer.
Tara prides herself on being tough— after all, she learned the hard way how fleeting life can be. But the closer she gets to Xander the more she wants to open up and let him in. The more she wants everything.
The stakes are high and the passion is hot. But Xander’s secrets run deep and now, their hearts and their lives are on the line…
This is the first story in a brand-new, scorching hot romantic suspense series from Kimberly Kincaid. A shorter version of this story will appear in the Danger and Desire anthology from September 15-25, 2020. This is the extended version, containing bonus scenes and added content. It will be 99 cents for preorder and release week only (until October 13, 2020). Release day is October 6, 2020.
The Intelligence Unit series is a spinoff from Station Seventeen and Remington Medical. Xander first appears in DOWN DEEP. All of Kimberly’s romances stand alone.
Kimberly Kincaid writes contemporary romance that splits the difference between sexy and sweet and hot and edgy romantic suspense. When she’s not sitting cross-legged in an ancient desk chair known as “The Pleather Bomber”, she can be found practicing obscene amounts of yoga, whipping up anything from enchiladas to éclairs in her kitchen, or curled up with her nose in a book. Kimberly is a USA Today best-selling author and a 2016 and 2015 RWA RITA® finalist and 2014 Bookseller’s Best nominee who lives (and writes!) by the mantra that food is love. Kimberly resides in Virginia with her wildly patient husband and their three daughters.
“She’s always with tutor boy.” I bristled. Darcy’s name was becoming a regular mention in our conversation. I fucking hated it, but it wasn’t like I could complain, not when Asher was right. I was spending more time with the team than Felicity. But it was only for another few weeks. Once the season was over, things would settle. We could be us again. “Dude, you’re not seriously jealous about a guy who enjoys talking about animal science all day?” “You’re forgetting that Felicity also likes talking about that stuff.” “He’s her tutor. You’re her… person.” Cameron chuckled. “He’s right, you know. You and Felicity are going the distance. All couples have highs and lows.” “Well being in a low fucking sucks.” “You’re still… doing it, right?” I gawked at Asher. “What are we, five?” “I’m just trying to help.” He shrugged. “Yeah, well maybe we should change the subject.” Dissecting my relationship with Felicity was making me cranky. “If you make it as one of the Heisman finalists, we can take a trip to New York for the weekend to celebrate.” “Seriously, Ash, the chances of me getting shortlisted are almost non-existent.” I rubbed my jaw. “Still, I’ll ask my old man if we can reserve the penthouse for the weekend. That way, even if you don’t shortlist, we can still go, but it can be a commiseration instead of a celebration.” A shit-eating grin tugged at his mouth. “There’s something very wrong with you,” I grumbled. “But you love me.” Yeah, I did. He might have been like sunshine on a fucking rainy day, but Asher was my best friend. Cameron too. Almost fifteen months had passed since we left Rixon for college, but they were still my guys. Always would be. He pulled out his cell phone and I frowned. “What are you doing?” “Texting my dad.” Cameron smothered a chuckle and I rolled my eyes. “Of course you are.”
ALSO AVAILABLE IN THE SERIES
#1 The Trouble With You – FREE for a limited time!
Author of over thirty mature young adult and new adult novels, L A is happiest writing the kind of books she loves to read: addictive stories full of teenage angst, tension, twists and turns.
Home is a small town in the middle of England where she currently juggles being a full-time writer with being a mother/referee to two little people. In her spare time (and when she’s not camped out in front of the laptop) you’ll most likely find L A immersed in a book, escaping the chaos that is life.