From USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR Jennifer Bernard comes a steamy, single dad, small town romance set in fan-favorite Lost Harbor, Alaska with a free-spirited heroine and a grumpy hero who can’t stay away.
Ice cream goddess and perennial life of the party, Trixie Tran lives life large, from her eclectic wardrobe to her offbeat perspective on, wellâŚeverything. No one knows her carefully crafted persona evolved after one life-changing summer during her teens, when a need to belong led to falling for Chase Owens, who betrayed her trust. Now, years later, Mr. Wrong has come to her tiny town of Lost HarborâŚand heâs not leaving until Trixie gives him what he wants.
With his young daughter in tow, rescue trainer Mac Brindisi is in Alaska to fulfill a short-term contract. Romance isnât part of the plan. Heâs also built a careerâliterallyâout of shutting people out of his life. Despite that fact, heâd have to be dead inside not to notice the sexy siren who owns the local ice cream shop. When some rich jerk from her past sails into town, all his protective instincts are activatedâŚand then some.
Turns out Chase is no ordinary rich jerk. Dealing with him will take all of Macâs skillsâŚas well as courage Trixie didnât know she had. Can she afford to put her trust in a man again? Or is Mac just another smitten-in-summer mistake waiting to happen?
About the Author:
Jennifer Bernard is a USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romance. Her books have been called âan irresistible reading experienceâ full of âquick wit and sizzling love scenes.â A graduate of Harvard and former news promo producer, she left big city life in Los Angeles for true love in Alaska, where she now lives with her husband and stepdaughters. She still hasnât adjusted to the cold, so most often she can be found cuddling with her laptop and a cup of tea.
If you’d like to know when Jennifer’s next book comes out, visit her website at www.JenniferBernard.net to sign up for her mailing list.
An Irish mobster with a brutal grudge. An Italian mafia princess with a dark secret.
Brutal Vows, an all-new steamy and powerful dark enemies-to-lovers mafia standalone romance from international bestselling author J.T. Gessinger is available now!
An Irish mobster with a brutal grudge. An Italian mafia princess with a dark secret.
2 Spider I get only a glimpse of the woman in the window before the curtains fall back into place and she disappears, but the image of her is seared onto my retinas. Dark hair, red lips, olive skin. A black, low-cut dress. Acres of cleavage. And eyes that glittered silver in the afternoon sun like the flash of coins at the bottom of a wishing well. She canât be Liliana, the lass Iâm here to meet. Iâve seen pictures of her. She has a sweet, innocent face. A shy, lovely smile. The woman in the window looks like sheâd only smile if she were slitting your throat. Mindful of the armed guards, I say in Gaelic to Kieran, âI thought the lassâs mother died?â Standing beside me, he follows my gaze and looks up at the blank window. âAye. Why?â âWho else lives here?â He shrugs. âDunno. From the size of the bloody place, probably a thousand people.â Sheâs not a servant, that much I know. There wasnât a hint of servitude in those flashing eyes. She looked more like a warlord about to lead an army of soldiers into battle. âThis way,â says the guard nearest to me. He nods toward an arched opening in the brick wall that leads from the circular driveway into an interior courtyard. Dismissing the thought of the mystery woman, I button my suit jacket and follow behind the guard as he leads Kieran and me away from the car. The other guard walks behind us. Weâre led through the lushly landscaped courtyard to a set of enormous carved oak doors, flanked on either side by towering marble columns. The main house looms over us, three sprawling stories of beige limestone with elaborate balustrades and scrolled iron balconies, topped by a line of Roman centurion statues gazing down at us from a ledge on the red-tiled roof. Inside the main foyer, the dĂŠcor becomes even more ostentatious. Naked cherubs frolic with hairy satyrs and woodland nymphs in colorful frescoes on the walls. Instead of one drop-crystal chandelier overhead, there are three. The floor is black marble, the carved mahogany furniture is edged in gilt, and my eyes are starting to water from the kaleidoscope glare of stained-glass windows. Under his breath, Kieran says, âJesus, Mary, and Joseph. Looks like Liberace hurled his lunch all over the bloody place.â Heâs right. Itâs fucking awful. I have to force myself not to turn around and walk out. âAh, Mr. Quinn!â I turn to my right. A man approaches with his hands spread open in greeting. Heâs fit, of average height, and somewhere around forty. His dark hair is slicked back with pomade. Wearing a navy blue pinstripe suit I can tell is custom made, a powder blue tie with a diamond tie pin, a chunky diamond watch, and a gold pinky ring on each hand, he oozes wealth, privilege, and power. His cologne reaches me before he does. His smile is blinding. I hate him on sight. âMr. Caruso, I presume.â He grabs one of my hands in both of his and pumps it up and down like heâs a political candidate campaigning for my vote. âItâs a pleasure to finally meet you. Welcome to my home.â âThank you. Itâs a pleasure to meet you as well.â He hasnât stopped grinning or shaking my hand. Ten more seconds of this shite, and Iâll break those Chiclet teeth of his. âThis is my associate, Mr. Byrne.â I extract my hand from Carusoâs death grip and gesture to Kieran, who inclines his head respectfully. âSir.â âMr. Byrne, welcome. And please, both of you, call me Gianni. I prefer if weâre all on a first name basis, donât you?â Iâd rather blind myself with acid, you wanker. Kieran politely offers his name. I offer nothing. Thereâs an awkward pause while Caruso waits, but he gets the hint and suggests we retire to his study to speak in private. After what feels like a death march through miles of echoing corridors, we arrive at the study. Itâs probably larger than the law library at Notre Dame. We sit across from Caruso in a pair of leather chairs so uncomfortable, they had to be designed by sadists. I havenât been here ten minutes, and Iâm already regretting the fuck out of this. Until she walks in the door. Dark hair, red lips, olive skin. A black, low-cut dress. Acres of cleavage. Not only cleavage, but long legs and an hourglass figure that would make any man stupid with lust. If he wasnât too busy being turned to stone by the ice in her eyes, that is. Iâve never seen an attractive serial killer, but I bet this is exactly what sheâd look like.
About J.T. Geissinger J.T. Geissinger is a #1 internationally bestselling author of twenty-seven novels. Ranging from funny, feisty rom coms to intense, edgy suspense, her books have sold over five million copies and been translated into more than a dozen languages. She is a three-time nominee in both contemporary and paranormal romance for the RITAÂŽ Award, the highest distinction in romance fiction from the Romance Writers of AmericaÂŽ. She is also a recipient of the Prism Award for Best First Book and the Golden Quill Award for Best Paranormal/Urban Fantasy. Sheâs a Southern California native currently living in Nevada with her husband and rescue kitty, Zoe.
Scared to Love, an all-new angst-filled dark mafia romance set from USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author Siobhan Davis, is available now!
A new dark mafia friends-to-lovers romance from USA Today & Wall Street Journal bestselling author, Siobhan Davis.
Serena has felt trapped her entire life, living a lie because it was demanded of her.
Years of torture at the hands of her sadistic husband have left her battered and bruised, but not defeated. She needs to stay strong for her children, and sheâs determined to reset her future.
The future she has all thanks to Alessandro.
He saved her that fateful night when her husband died, and he continues to save her as she struggles to piece her life back together.
Yet the closer they get, the more it terrifies her because no man has ever made her feel like this.
It canât work.
Sheâs too broken.
Heâs too young.
And sheâll never trust a made man again.
Women never get under Alessoâs skinâuntil Serena. They share an intense connection that canât be ignored, no matter how hard she tries to push him away.
He knows sheâs scared. He is too, but sheâs worth the risk. Alesso vows to be patient, until danger resurfaces and now all bets are off. Serena needs to understand how much she means to him and he will do everything to protect her.
The situation grows more tense as the DeLucas plot against Bennett Mazzone and the surviving mafia heirs. But Alesso will lay down his life before he lets Serena get hurt again.
Now his walls are lowered, the gloves are off, and heâll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.
Even if it means letting her go.
This is a full-length 105k-word novel with NO cliff-hanger and an HEA, set in the Mazzone Mafia world. This is the third and final book in this series. For readers who enjoy friends-to-lovers, second chance, reverse age-gap, dark mafia romance. May contain triggers – please read the note at the start of the book.
She slams to a halt, turning to face me. âI would never deliberately deceive you. Thatâs not who I am.â Fire underscores her tone, and I like hearing it.
âI didnât mean it that way. I know who you are.â
The saddest expression washes over her features. âIf that was true, you wouldnât be standing here with me now. You wouldnât be spending time with me each day. You would run a mile if you realized exactly who I am.â
I risk stepping a little closer. âI have known you long enough to know the kind of woman you are, Serena. Iâd like to think youâve known me long enough to know you could tell me anything, and it wouldnât scare me away.â Reaching out slowly, I take her gloved hands in my bare ones. âI spend time with you because I enjoy it. I want to get to know you better. I want to support you as you deal with the things you need to deal with.â
âWhy me? Iâm too old. Too broken. I have kids. I come with so much baggage Iâm completely weighted down with it. Iââ
I canât listen to her beat herself up any longer, so I place two fingers over her mouth, quietly shushing her as I prepare to negate each of her concerns. âOne. Youâre not too old, and Iâm not too young. Age is just a number, and I refuse to allow stupid societal norms to dictate who I spend my time with or categorize the nature of that relationship. Two. Broken is subjective, and we all have our broken parts, but guess what?â I move my fingers from her lips to her cheeks, silently rejoicing when she doesnât flinch or shy away. âBroken parts can be glued back together. Three, I adore your kids, and they are the cherry on top. And four, every single person in the world has some kind of baggage. Itâs called life.â
Tears glisten in her eyes, spilling onto her cheeks. âYouâre not real,â she whispers. âYou canât be.â
My heart aches for her because I see the mistrust and disbelief in her eyes. âIâm real, Rena.â Taking her hand, I slip it under my coat and over my shirt-covered chest, where my heart is currently jumping cartwheels in honor of her presence. âIâm as real as it gets.â
Siobhan Davis is a USA Today, Wall Street Journal and Amazon Top 10 bestselling romance author. Siobhan writes emotionally intense stories with swoon-worthy romance, complex characters, and tons of unexpected plot twists and turns that will have you flipping the pages beyond bedtime! She has sold over 1.5 million books and her titles are translated into several languages.
Prior to becoming a full-time writer, Siobhan forged a successful corporate career in human resource management.
She lives in the Garden County of Ireland with her husband and two sons.
From a very early age, I was warned to stay away from the Lawson brothers…
It didn’t matter they weren’t biological brothers or that one had been adopted on a guilt-driven whim. They considered one another family. They shared a bond like any other brothers would.
Except it ran much deeper.
Darker.
Dirtier.
They had all the power, money, and hunger capable of destroying anyone who stood in their way as they trained to become icons the world watched every four years bring home gold medals.
Little did anyone know, there was only one thing the legends worshipped more than their beloved sport.
Me.
*This is a forbidden, taboo, MMF, dark romance novel that includes several triggers
About the Author:
Xavier Neal is a best-selling romance author who enjoys hopping from sub genre to sub genre like a game of Hopscotch she can’t resist.
In between writing, she loves to read (everything from romance to self improvement books), watch movies (old and new), eat too much Tex-Mex (her Chuy’s t-shirt collection is out of control), and watch AHL hockey games LIVE (preferably against the glass whenever possible).
She currently resides happily in Texas with her bearded husband “Lumberjackâ and their two fur babies.
They have nothing in common, except their agreement to make a baby and their desire to keep things businesslike.
Josh and Gemma Make a Baby, an all-new opposites attract, romantic comedy from Sarah Ready is coming January 25th, and we have your first look!
Chapter 1
When I was a little kid, I worshiped Josh Lewenthal, now, I couldnât care less about him, I just need his sperm.
Iâll be the first to admit, I have no idea how to go about getting it, but as my obscenely sexy boss, famed self-help guru Ian Fortune, always says, âanything is possible if you put your mind to it.â
Thatâs my motto for this year. Starting today, January first, Iâm going to believe that anything is possibleâthat magic can happen. And after thirty-two years of being average in nearly every way, magic will be a welcome change.
Josh and I grew up in a small river town a few hours north of New York City. Itâs the type of town that has a Christmas tree in the square, a pumpkin carving contest in the fall, and an ice cream social in the summer. The houses are cookie-cutter cute, the yards are golf course green, and everybody waves hello. Itâs a kid-friendly, all-American paradise. My family fit right in.
Josh moved to town with his dad when he was eight. Within days my mom warned me to stay away from him.
âWhy?â I asked.
âBecause heâs not the sort of boy that nice girls play with.â
âWhy?â I asked again. I was in that âwhyâ phase that all kids go through.
âBecause I said so.â
Well.
My mom was right. I was a nice girl. She dressed me in pink poufy dresses and pigtails to prove it. But instead of listening to my mom I snuck out of the house and went and found Josh Lewenthal. I guess thereâs a lesson there. Even when I was little I couldnât take âbecause I said soâ as an answer.
I found Josh kicking a ball in his backyard. He told me the reason nice girls couldnât play with him was because he knew how girls got babies in their bellies. To prove it, he smacked a kiss on my mouth. I was terrified for weeks that I was going to blow up like a balloon and pop out a baby. After a month I realized that Josh Lewenthal was full of crap and that my mom had been right.
But that didnât stop me from idolizing him. My brother Dylan and Josh became best friends. And like little sisters around the world I wanted to do everything they did and be everywhere they were.
When I was sixteen my big sister Leah came home from college for Christmas break. Within days she told me to stop ogling Josh.
âWhy?â I asked. I was still in the âwhyâ phase.
âBecause if he catches you looking heâll steal your underwear.â
I didnât know what she meant. âWhy?â
âBecause he collects underwear for a hobby and pins them on his bedroom wall. He has almost every girlâs undies in this whole town. Heâll tear them off you and then do things.â
Leah lowered her voice to a whisper. âMarie Johnson said his hands are like an octopusâs. Everywhere at once.â
I was appalled and then intrigued. But, âI donât think heâll want my underwear. Dylan is his best friend. Plus, Iâm not really into that kind of thing.â You know, being a nice girl and all.
âIt doesnât matter,â said Leah, full of big sister knowledge. âHe just has to look at you and youâll rip your undies off for him. Heâs that good. An octopus, Gemma. You better stop ogling him.â
I was skeptical, to say the least.
But six months later, while I was cleaning up my parentsâ garage after Josh and Dylanâs joint high school graduation party, Josh told me heâd miss me while he was in New York for college. Then, lo and behold, he stole my panties. Metaphorically, of course.
For the second time in my life, I spent another few weeks terrified that I was going to blow up like a birthday balloon and pop out a baby.
After weeks of toe-numbing worry followed by my period and sweet sagging relief, I realized that Josh Lewenthal was not worth my fascination/worship/idolization, that he was in fact an immature/emotionally constipated user.
I didnât see him again for six years.
By the time he came back to town Iâd been married, divorced, and was long past mooning over fantasies.
I had an apartment in the city and my current (amazing) job, social media marketing coordinator for acclaimed self-help guru Ian Fortune. And I had goals. Lots of goals.
I meanâŚtoday I have goals.
Okay. A goal.
And Josh Lewenthal, the man who knows how to make a baby, is integral to my success.
New Yearâs Resolution: Have a baby Preferably with Josh Lewenthal
Meet Gemma Jacobs. Sheâs driven, energetic, and a positive thinker. She has a great career working for famed self-help guru Ian Fortune, she lives in a cute studio apartment in Manhattan, and her family is supportive and loving (albeit a little kooky). Her life is perfect. Absolutely wonderful.
Except for one tiny little thing.
After a decade of disastrous relationships and an infertility diagnosis, Gemma doesnât want a Mr. Right (or even a Mr. Right Now), she just wants a baby.
And all she needs is an egg, some sperm, and IVF.
So Gemma makes a New Yearâs resolution: have a baby.
Josh Lewenthal is a laid back, relaxed, find-the-humor-in-life kind of guy. The polar opposite of Gemma. Heâs also her brotherâs best friend. For the past twenty years Josh has attended every Jacobsâ family birthday, holiday, and event â heâs always around.
Gemma knows him. Heâs nice (enough), heâs funny (-ish), heâs healthy (she thinks) and he didnât burn any ants with a magnifying glass as a kid. Which, in Gemmaâs mind, makes him the perfect option for a sperm donor.
So Gemma wants to make a deal. An unemotional, business-like arrangement. No commitments, just a baby.
To Gemmaâs surprise, Josh agrees.
They have nothing in common, except their agreement to make a baby and their desire to keep things businesslike.
But the thing about baby-makingâŚitâs hard to keep it businesslike, itâs nearly impossible to keep it unemotional, and itâs definitely impossible to keep your heart out of the mix. Because when youâre making a baby together, things have a way of starting to feel like youâre making other things too â like a life, and a family, and love. And when the baby-making ends, you wish that everything else didnât have to end too.
About Sarah Ready Author Sarah Ready writes contemporary romance and romantic comedy. Her books have been described as âeuphoricâ, âheartwarmingâ and âlaugh out loudâ. Her debut novel The Fall in Love Checklist was hailed as âthe unicorn read of 2020â. She loves to write fast-paced, emotionally compelling romances about quirky, smart women and the men who love them.
Before writing romance full-time Sarah had lots of fun teaching at an Ivy League. Then she realized she could have even more fun writing romance. Her favorite things after writing are adventuring and travel. Youâll frequently find her using her degree at a dino dig site, crawling into a cave, snorkeling, or on horseback riding through the jungle â all fodder for her next book. Sheâs lived in Scotland, Norway, Portugal, Switzerland and NYC. She currently lives in the Caribbean with her water-obsessed pup and her awesome family. You can visit her online at www.sarahready.com
Welcome to the underworld of Knightâs Ridge. An empire steeped in history, wealth, secrets, and lies. Where nothing is quite as it seems, and the shadows lingering around every corner are ready to drag you into the darkness.
If you want a white Knight to save you, youâre in the wrong placeâŚ
START the series with a FREE prequel, Wicked Summer Knight!!!
My big bad mafia soldier tries to be all hot and scary, but right now, that whole persona is gone. Heâs just my broken boy with a pretty face and a sinful body.
My heart races as I watch him.
How is it possible that my feelings toward him flipped as fast as they did?
I hated him. I hated him so fucking much.
I smile as I recall some of our worst times.
But now⌠Now heâs my everything, and I canât imagine my life without him in it.
Blurb:
USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author Tracy Lorraine brings you the next installment of her new dark mafia, high school bully romance series.
The empire is crumbling…
She didnât believe me. Even now she doesnât want to.
But as sirens ring out in the distance and she stares into my eyesâ there is no denying it.
No denying her. Or the truth.
The threat is closer than we ever imagined and uncovering that truth is more deadly than the lies she grew up believing.
Weâre at our breaking point, but Iâm not going down without a fight. And Iâm sure as hell not going to lose her. Not after everything weâve endured.
Stella Doukas might have started out as her fatherâs little princess.
But Iâm going to make her my queen.
Dear Readers,
Wicked Empire is the third and final in Stella and Sebastian’s trilogy and the first couple’s story in my Knight’s Ridge Empire series. This book is a dark bully romance that contains mature content and demanding alphaholes that some readers may find disturbing. You have been warned.
About the Author:
Tracy Lorraine is a new adult and contemporary romance author.
Tracy has recently-ish turned thirty and lives in a cute Cotswold village in England with her husband, baby girl and lovable but slightly crazy dog. Having always been a bookaholic with her head stuck in her Kindle Tracy decided to try her hand at a story idea she dreamt up and hasnât looked back since.
Beautiful Surrender, an all-new steamy standalone romance that brings the heat from Ivy Wild is available now!
Xavier: My truth is control. My truth is that good is rewarded and that bad is punished. Aubrey Knight thought she could disrupt my business and get away with it. But, she was sorely mistaken. So, when her father lost the election and came to me begging for money I struck a deal. The little brat would serve as collateral until the loan was repaid. She thinks she can test me. How laughable. She will learn that my house has rules, and she will learn to follow them.
Aubrey: I will never follow his rules.
Beautiful Surrender is a standalone romance that explores the psychological dynamic of BDSM rather than the physical.
His hand wrapped around the nape of my neck, and he pulled back briefly. His intense amber eyes were on me and his breathing was heavy.
He didn’t seem like himself. That perfect composure he always wrapped around himself like a designer suit was gone.
He was shirtless.
Exposed.
Heaving.
Breathless.
And it was beautiful.
Because I knew it was just for me.
Maybe I’d been jealous of what I saw between him and his ballerina. But now I knew. Now I knew that he had his walls up around her, as well.
I was the only one he showed this side of himself to.
“Kiss me back, goddammit,” he growled against my neck, nipping at the skin.
I so wanted to. I wanted to let myself fall into him. I’d been burned by my own flames for so long that I was more than ready to let them go out if I thought someone would come along and keep me warm.
And Xavier seemed like the type of man that would do just that. He seemed like the type of man I could rely on.
I pressed my palms against his firm pectorals.
And then, I pushed him away.
“I’ll never be the other woman,” I said firmly.
“There’s no one else,” he growled.
“She left less than an hour ago,” I reminded him with a huff.
“She’s nothing to me,” he said before moving in again. I pushed against him but his strength overwhelmed me. His body was on me, and I barely had any fight left within me.
“You’re lying,” I whispered, looking away from his intense gaze.
His fingers gripped my chin roughly and turned my head so that I couldn’t help but look at him. “I don’t lie. I’ve never lied a day in my life. And I certainly wouldn’t break that over a woman.”
“Is that all I am? Just some woman?”
“Kiss me back and I’ll make you more than that.”
Did I believe him? Could it really be true that she was nothing to him? I saw the way he was with her. It was nothing like the way he was with me right now. He was all cold detachment with her.
And this?
His ice was gone.
Completely gone.
All I could feel were the scorching bright flames of his heart. The flames that, try as he might, he couldn’t hide. They showed so brilliantly through his eyes.
“I’m not going to fall in love with you,” I whispered, even though I knew it was a lie.
“I don’t believe in love,” was his response.
“Good, then,” I grit out, not allowing myself to feel the disappointment that was welling up inside of me.
“You want this?” he asked, pushing his body into me. I could feel his erection against my stomach. There was no questioning what he wanted. “Tell me you want this.” He moved in closer, his lips hovering just above my ear. “Get down on your knees and beg me for it.”
My sex clenched at his words as shivers wracked my body. I did want him. Even still, I was never going to give into him that way.
“I’ll never beg you for anything,” I forced myself to say.
His face hardened. “I’m not fucking playing around Aubrey. Say you want this, say you want me, or all of this stops.”
“I want all of this,” I whispered. “I’m just never going to beg you for it.”
“You’re such a brat,” he nearly spat but he couldn’t hide his lust for me. I could see it in his eyes and the way he moved his body against me. I could feel it in how firm he was for me.
“Don’t act like you don’t like it,” I replied.
He captured my lips as I spoke and bit down hard on my lower lip. I gasped and he invaded my mouth with his tongue. I moaned as my nails dug into the firm muscles of his shoulders.
He consumed me with this kiss. His presence normally was dominating, consuming, intimidating. But, this kiss was that and more.
His fingers held my chin firmly in place, and I had no way to fight him. No way to refuse him. No way to escape him.
None of that mattered though.
Because I didn’t want to do any of that.
I wanted to be here. I wanted his lips on me. I wanted to erase whatever it was I saw earlier, even if he said it was nothing.
He pulled back and I sucked in breath. Suddenly I found myself being flipped around so that my body was pressed against the wall. He held me there and I knew I wouldn’t escape him if he didn’t want me to.
“I don’t need to pretend for you. I don’t like it. Your attitude, your challenges. You’re a spoiled little brat, Ms. Knight. You deserve to be punished.”
He pulled the lace thong I didn’t remember putting on aside and his fingers danced just beside my folds. My legs were shaking with anticipation. I wanted him to touch me more than I wanted anything, but he seemed determined to make me beg for it.
I bit down on my tongue hard to stop myself from giving in. To stop myself from going back on my word within less than thirty seconds.
“So strong. So fierce. So feisty,” he whispered against my ear before sucking on the lobe.
“Do what you came here to do,” I goaded him. “Or I’m going to think you’ve lost your nerve.”
He smirked against my skin. “You’re lucky I don’t have a paddle, or your ass would be as fiery as your attitude.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I seethed as he continued to tease me, massaging the inside of my thighs gently.
His finger dipped inside my entrance suddenly, and I screamed at the intrusion as he started to work me expertly.
“What was that, Ms. Knight?” he whispered against me as he continued to work me, pressing hard against my G-spot with each stroke. “Were you trying to suggest that I lack the nerve to take you? Was that it?”
I wanted to respond. I wanted to fight back at his comment. But, I could barely breathe with how fast he was working me now. Air seemed to catch in my throat, and I was fairly sure my legs had given out and his strength was the only thing holding me up.
Just as I was about to crest, he pulled his finger out of me and wrapped it around the front of my body. I opened my mouth to protest and instead found his thick fingers shoved inside.
“Taste yourself on me, Ms. Knight. Tell me how good submitting to me tastes.”
I groaned around his fingers before he pulled them out. His body pulled back, and I thought for a minute that he really intended to leave the job unfinished.
But within seconds he was pressing me back against the wall and sheathing himself inside of me.
“Fuck!” I cursed at the feel of him. He’d taken me raw, and I could feel every beautiful inch of his stiff cock pressing deeper and deeper inside of me.
“You’re beautiful when you don’t resist,” he whispered against my back before he started to move.
About Ivy Writer of all things untamed, romantic and free, Ivy Wild never planned on becoming a romance novelist. In fact, she hated romance as a kid and was quite proud of that fact. Basically, life is weird.
Married to her own alpha hero, she currently lives in various places of the world at various times thanks to his military career.
HUNTERâS HOPE by Alyssa Day is out now from Entangled Publishing! Check it out and be sure to get your copy today!
Title: Hunterâs Hope
Author: Alyssa Day
Genre: Paranormal Romance
About Hunterâs Hope:
Hunter Evans risked his life again and again as a firefighter until the night he died saving a childâŚonly to be reborn as a vampire. Now the man who lived his life as the quintessential ânice guyâ must find a way to conquer the deadly urges that threaten to turn him feral. When his own actions put a beautiful woman in danger, he vows to protect herâŚeven from himself.
Alice Darlington has a secret of her own: she sees ghosts. She thought sheâd done a good job of keeping it under wrapsâuntil now. A terrible threat from her past is hunting her down in order to use her power for dark purposes. Now sheâs on the run and doesnât know who to trust or where to go.
When Hunter and Alice team up to battle the dangers coming at them from all sides, theyâre forced to rely on each other. But Hunter doesnât know how long he can keep the beast inside him away from the woman it cravesâŚ
Hunter snapped into motion the second Alice swayed. He shot across the space between them and caught her in his arms before she could hit the floor.Â
She blinked up at him, her brilliant green eyes huge in her pale face, and then she smiled a little. âThis is not how I imagined the evening going.âÂ
Something in Hunterâs chest clenched at her courage. Sheâd faced down vampires and now a ghostâand probably had a demon in her house, if Meara had been rightâand she still had a sense of humor. He could feel a part of his heart, the small, icy, closed-off part that had faced one too many rejections, take a small, tentative step toward warmth and hope.Â
He automatically stepped on the feeling. Hard.Â
Now was not the time.Â
âWhat happened?â he asked.Â
She blew out a shaky breath and pushed gently away from him to stand on her own. âWell, I guess youâre telling the truth about being vampires, because the ghost just told me that you are, and ghosts never lie.âÂ
âIs that all?â Meara hopped gracefully off the table and stalked toward them. âSeemed like a longer conversation than that.âÂ
Alice shrugged, the casual motion contradicted by the wary look in her eyes. âShe also told me you want me to die.âÂ
âWe do not want you to die,â Hunter said firmly. âWeââÂ
âI know,â Alice said, smoothing wisps of hair away from her face.Â
âYou do?â He was confused. âYou just said ghosts donât lie.âÂ
âWell, they donât, as far as I know. Itâs not like Iâve met all the ghosts in the world or know the secret ghost rulebook.â She gave them just a hint of a smile. âBut they can be wrong. How would a dead flapper from a hundred years ago know what your intent is?âÂ
âExactly!â He was pleased. âAndââÂ
âAnd simple logic tells me that you probably didnât rent out an entire restaurant just to kill me, when you could have murdered me at the rescue and left me bleeding out on the floor. Or, I guess, not bleeding out so much as drained.âÂ
His smile faded, but he couldnât disagree with her logic.Â
âLook, Iâve never killed anybody and donât plan to start now, Alice. In fact, Iâve never even bitten anybody,â he growled. âMaybe you could take that much on faith, while we get to know each other.âÂ
âAre we going to get to know each other?â She wrapped her arms around her waist, her body language pure self-protection combined with a touch of fear, but her flashing eyes and raised chin signaled defiance and courage. âIâm not sure thatâs such a good idea, no matter how beautiful you are.âÂ
Hunter felt a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face. âBeautiful? I can work with that.â
About the Author:
Alyssa Day (aka Alesia Holliday) is the New York Times and USA Today best-selling author of the Warriors of Poseidon and Vampire Motorcycle Club paranormal romance series and the Tigerâs Eye Mysteries paranormal mystery series, with more than a million books sold. A recovering trial lawyer, Alyssa has won many awards for her books, has had her books translated into many languages (but is holding out for Klingon!), and loves all things spookyâand she’s always rescuing dogs. For more info: www.alyssaday.com.
HUNTERâS HOPE by Alyssa Day is out now from Entangled Publishing! Check it out and be sure to get your copy today!
Title: Hunterâs Hope
Author: Alyssa Day
Genre: Paranormal Romance
About Hunterâs Hope:
Hunter Evans risked his life again and again as a firefighter until the night he died saving a childâŚonly to be reborn as a vampire. Now the man who lived his life as the quintessential ânice guyâ must find a way to conquer the deadly urges that threaten to turn him feral. When his own actions put a beautiful woman in danger, he vows to protect herâŚeven from himself.
Alice Darlington has a secret of her own: she sees ghosts. She thought sheâd done a good job of keeping it under wrapsâuntil now. A terrible threat from her past is hunting her down in order to use her power for dark purposes. Now sheâs on the run and doesnât know who to trust or where to go.
When Hunter and Alice team up to battle the dangers coming at them from all sides, theyâre forced to rely on each other. But Hunter doesnât know how long he can keep the beast inside him away from the woman it cravesâŚ
When Alice rounded the back of the van, it was to discover that Marigold was no longer in her crate.
Or even in the van.
Instead, she was being held in the muscular arms of the manâghostâfrom the hotel.
And the normally good-natured raccoon was hissing.
Alice froze and then forced herself forward. âWhat are you doing? Give her to me.â
He flashed a wickedly sensual smile that caused a ripple of sensation to wash through her, carrying an unexpected heat to every nerve ending in her body. She suddenly felt too hot, too breathless, tooâŚalive.
âShe clearly would prefer to be held by you,â he said easily. âI canât say that I blame her.â
His blue eyes gleamed, glowing in the reflected brightness of the lantern lights affixed on either side of her front door. When he stepped toward her, she automatically took a step back. This manâthis ghostâmost definitely didnât belong in her yard, holding her raccoon. He was⌠too much.
Too tall, too big, too intense, too gorgeous.
Her breath gave a funny little hitch in her throat.
He was beautiful.
Maybe her age? Late twenties? Or early thirties? Tall; he was easily six feet, maybe a couple of inches more. Broad shoulders angled down to a slim waist with no softness showing anywhere. And he had amazing bone structure. She suddenly wanted to dig out the paints sheâd tried out a few times when she was enjoying her new freedom and try to capture the strength in his jaw, the sharpness of his high cheekbones, and the glow in his eyes. His face held a slight beard, as though he hadnât shaved in the days before heâd died, and those long, dark lashes shaded not just his incredible eyes but the shadows beneath them. His dark hair was swept back from his forehead, as if heâd impatiently shoved it out of his way with one of the large, capable hands that currently held an armful of unhappy raccoon.
Marigold hissed again, snapping Alice out of her trance, and she edged forward, took the angry creature, and stumbled back and away from her unexpected visitor. She swallowed, hard, and tried to regain control of the situation.
The only way to deal with ghosts was to take the reins at the very beginning of each encounter. She thought sheâd done this at the hotel, but sheâd been caught off guard by the manâsâthe ghostâsâaliveness. Sheâd encountered ghosts who could manipulate objects before, of course, but nothing like this.
âListen. Iââ The amusement in his gaze threw her off, and she forgot what sheâd been about to say. So, she asked a basic question to give herself time to regroup. âWhat is your name? I canât keep thinking of you as âthat manâ or âthat ghost.ââ
His devilish smile flashed again. âI like that you keep thinking of me.â
About the Author:
Alyssa Day (aka Alesia Holliday) is the New York Times and USA Today best-selling author of the Warriors of Poseidon and Vampire Motorcycle Club paranormal romance series and the Tigerâs Eye Mysteries paranormal mystery series, with more than a million books sold. A recovering trial lawyer, Alyssa has won many awards for her books, has had her books translated into many languages (but is holding out for Klingon!), and loves all things spookyâand she’s always rescuing dogs. For more info: www.alyssaday.com.
HUNTERâS HOPE by Alyssa Day is coming from Entangled Publishing November 30th! Check it out and be sure to pre-order today!
Title: Hunterâs Hope
Author: Alyssa Day
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Release Date: November 30th
About Hunterâs Hope:
Hunter Evans risked his life again and again as a firefighter until the night he died saving a childâŚonly to be reborn as a vampire. Now the man who lived his life as the quintessential ânice guyâ must find a way to conquer the deadly urges that threaten to turn him feral. When his own actions put a beautiful woman in danger, he vows to protect herâŚeven from himself.
Alice Darlington has a secret of her own: she sees ghosts. She thought sheâd done a good job of keeping it under wrapsâuntil now. A terrible threat from her past is hunting her down in order to use her power for dark purposes. Now sheâs on the run and doesnât know who to trust or where to go.
When Hunter and Alice team up to battle the dangers coming at them from all sides, theyâre forced to rely on each other. But Hunter doesnât know how long he can keep the beast inside him away from the woman it cravesâŚ
As Hunter started to step out of the elevator, an odd-looking dog raced in front of him and darted inside.
âMarigold!â a womanâs voice called. âMarigold! Stop!â
Hunter looked up to see a flurry of color as a woman rushed down the hallway toward him. Or, presumably, toward the dog.
âSheâs inside. Sheâs not going anywhere,â he said, moving to block the entry to keep the animal in, surprised to find himself amused for the second time in ten minutes. For only the third or fourth time in the weeks since heâd died.
âShe might push the button for a floor, and then where would I be? Chasing her all over the hotel all night?â The woman, a colorful whirlwind of purple silk, wild red curls, and flashing green eyes, ducked past him and bent down. âYou naughty thing! Hotels are dangerous! What if somebody tried to eat you?â
âThis may not be a five-star hotel, but I doubt theyâve resorted to eating dogs,â Hunter drawled.
She lifted the animal into her arms and stood, turning to face him but still looking at the animal in her arms. âMarigold is a raccoon, as you can see. And this is the South. They eat raccoons in the South, or havenât you read Nathaniel Porterâs Field Guide to Local Fauna?â
âIâŚcanât say that I have,â he said slowly, because his brain cells seemed to be melting.
It was a raccoon.
In a hotel.
And the raccoon rescuer was the most beautiful woman heâd ever seen.
She was nearly as tall as he was, so maybe five-ten. She had cheekbones that could cut glass, and her smile, directed at the raccoon, was wide and lit up her face. Her eyes were the brilliant green of a spring apple, and her mass of red curls reached nearly to her waist. The purple dress she wore was a complicated thing made of scarves or loose flutters of fabric, and the entire picture gave him the impression of a forest nymph or fortune-teller.
âA raccoon,â he finally said, simply because the situation seemed to call for him to speak, but he had no idea what the hell to say.
âYes. As I said. If youâd move out of the way?â She finally glanced up at him. Her eyes narrowed, and her glossy red lips tightened. âOh. I should have known it would be that kind of night.â
He knew she was talking, but he couldnât quite make out the words or the meaning, because every single molecule of his body was suddenly, painfully focused on one thing and one thing only.
The pulse beating in her throat.
About the Author:
Alyssa Day (aka Alesia Holliday) is the New York Times and USA Today best-selling author of the Warriors of Poseidon and Vampire Motorcycle Club paranormal romance series and the Tigerâs Eye Mysteries paranormal mystery series, with more than a million books sold. A recovering trial lawyer, Alyssa has won many awards for her books, has had her books translated into many languages (but is holding out for Klingon!), and loves all things spookyâand she’s always rescuing dogs. For more info: www.alyssaday.com.
The Ritual, an all-new dark college romance by USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author Shantel Tessier is available now!
The Chosen One I vow. You vow. We vow. Barrington University is home of the Lords, a secret society that requires their blood in payment. They are above allâthe most powerful men in the world. They devote their lives to violence in exchange for power. And during their senior year, they are offered a chosen one. People think growing up with money is freeing, but I promise you, itâs not. My entire life has been planned out for me. I never got the chance to do what I wanted until Ryat Alexander Archer came along and gave me an option for a better life. He offered me what no one else ever hadâfreedom. I chose to be his. He made me believe that anyway, but it was just another lie. A way that the Lords manipulate you into doing what they want. After being sucked into the dark, twisted world of the Lords, I embraced my new role and allowed Ryat to parade me around like the trophy I was to him. But like all things, what started out as a game soon became a fight for survival. And the only way out was death.
Loyalty Freshman year at Barrington University I KNEEL IN the middle of the darkly lit room along with twenty other men. My hands are secured tightly behind my back with a pair of handcuffs. My shirt is torn, and blood drips from my busted lips. Iâm panting, still trying to catch my breath while my heart beats like a drum in my chest. Itâs hard to hear over the blood rushing in my ears, and Iâm sweating profusely.
We were dragged out of our beds in the middle of the night to serve. Our freshman classes at Barrington University start in two weeks, but we already have to show our loyalty to the Lords.
âYou will always have to prove yourself,âmy father once told me. âYou were each given a task,âthe man calls out as he paces in front of us. His black combat boots slap against the concrete floor with each step, the sound echoing off the walls. âKill or be killed. Now how many of you can fulfill it?â
âI can,â I state, lifting my head to stick my chin out in the warm and sticky air. Sweat covers my brow after the fight. Itâs rigged. You are supposed to lose. The point is to wear you down. See just how much you have to give. How far you can go. I made sure to win mine. No matter what it took.
He smirks down at me like Iâm fucking joking. âRyat. You seem so confident in yourself.â
âI know what Iâm capable of handling,âI say through gritted teeth. I donât like being second-guessed. We were each raised for thisâto be a Lord.
Wealth got us here.
Yet our determination will separate us by the time itâs over.
The man looks at the guy on my left and nods. The guy walks behind me and yanks me to stand by the back of my shirt. He undoes the cuffs, and I rip the shredded material up and over my head before dropping my hands to my sides when what I really want to do is rub my sore wrists.
Never show weakness. A Lord does not feel. Heâs a machine.
The man steps up to me with a knife in hand. He holds it out handle first to me, his black eyes almost glowing with excitement. âShow us what you can do.â
Taking it from him, I walk over to the chair bolted to the floor. I yank the bloody sheet off the chair to reveal a man tied to it. His hands are cuffed behind his back, and his feet are spread wide and secured to the chair legs.
Iâm not surprised I know himâheâs a Lord. Or was. The fact that heâs restrained tells me heâs not anymore. But that doesnât change my orders.
Kill without questions.
You want to be powerful? Then you realize you are a threat to those who want your position. In order to succeed, you donât have to be stronger, just deadlier.
The man shakes his head, his brown eyes pleading with me to spare his life. Multiple layers of duct tape are placed over his mouthâthose who spill secrets will be silenced. He thrashes in his chair.
Walking behind him, I look down at his cuffed wrists. He wears a ring on his right hand; itâs a circle with three horizontal lines across the middle. It stands for power.
Not just anyone would know what it means, but I do. Because I wear the same one. Everyone in this room does. But just because you get one doesnât mean youâll keep it.
I reach down and grab his hand. He begins to shout behind the tape as he tries to fight me, but I remove the ring easily and walk back around to stand in front of him. âYou donât deserve this,âI say to him, placing it in my pocket. âYou betrayed us, your brothers, yourself. The payment for that is death.â
When he throws his head back and screams into the tape, I press the knife to his neck, right below his jawline. His breathing fills the room, and his body strains, waiting for the first cut.
A Lord does not show mercy. Blood and tears are what we demand from those who betray us.
Savage Hearts, the highly-anticipated third standalone in the Queens & Monsters mafia romance series by JT Geissinger is available now!
Savage (adjective): 1) Not domesticated; wild and untamed 2) A brutal or vicious person 3) Malek Antonov
When my older sister calls out of the blue to announce sheâs getting married, itâs a shock. Sheâs not the settling-down kind, and we havenât spoken in almost three years. Even more of a shock? Sloane wants me to visit her and meet her new fiancĂŠ. Curious, I decide to take her up on the offer. I shouldâve known something was wrong when she wouldnât tell me where Iâd be going. I shouldâve known things were odd when she sent a private jet to pick me up. But thereâs no way in hell I couldâve ever guessed what would happen when I finally meet her fiancĂŠ. Declan OâDonnell. Head of the Irish Mob. Target of a savage Bratva assassin who wants revenge for the murder of his brother. Now, Iâm thousands of miles from home, Iâm smack in the middle of a mafia war, and Iâve got a Russian assassin whoâs decided he likes the looks of me. They say revenge is a dish best served cold. They never met Malek Antonov.
âYeah. Ohâcan I ask you a favor? Will you please not hurt him? Kieran, either. Heâs the other bodyguard. The bigger one. Theyâre both really nice.â Malek stares at me in disbelief. âSorry. Is that asking too much? Itâs just that Iâd never get over it if they got hurt because of me. Theyâre only trying to do their jobs.â After a moment, he says angrily, âYou know who I am. You know what I do. Correct?â âYes. Iâve been filled in on the particulars.â âAnd youâre lying there with my hand around your neck asking me not to hurt your bodyguards.â He says it like my sanity is in question. âI know itâs maybe a little unorthodox.â âNo,â he says flatly. âPlease?â He growls, âWhat the fuck is wrong with you?â âThereâs no need to get testy.â âTesty?â âIâm just saying. You donât have to get all mad about it.â Furious again, he glares at me, grinding his jaw and probably calculating how much pressure it will take to snap the brittle bird bones in my neck. Before he does, I say, âI also want to thank you for the rose you left me. That was really nice. Iâve never had a man bring me flowers before. I know it was only the one, and also you thought I was a captive prostitute at the time, but still. It was thoughtful. So thank you.â He stares at me with an expression somewhere between confusion and amazement, with a healthy dose of disgust on the side. âNow is probably a good time to remind you that Iâm still the same person you left the rose for. So if you did kill me, youâd be killing her, too. Just a thought.â âAre you on drugs?â âNot at the moment, no. Why, do you have any?â âThereâs something wrong with you. Mentally. Right?â That makes me laugh. âOh, totally. Iâve got more than a few screws loose. At least thatâs what my dad tells me. But heâs super uptight, zero imagination, so his opinion doesnât really count. Not that heâs wrong, because he isnât, but normies shouldnât judge creatives. They just have no idea how weâre wired. Why are you looking at me like that?â âIâve never had a conversation with an insane person before.â âVery funny.â âIt wasnât a joke.â âOuch.â We stare at each other in silence. His hostile, mine hopeful. He still hasnât murdered me, so things are looking up. âMalek?â âWhat.â He says it flatly. With dread. âThank you for not killing me.â He says emphatically, âDonât thank me yet.â âYouâre still deciding?â âIf only to get you to shut up, yes.â âIn that caseâŚâ I make a zipper motion across my lips. He watches with outrage, astonishment, and absolute disbelief. âActually, before I shut up, I also want to say that it was really sweet that you tried to save me from being a sex worker. I mean, what a gentleman! A gentleman killer who gives strangers big wads of cash in restrooms. Youâre quite the puzzle, Mr. Ghost. Or is it just Ghost? Iâm never sure how the nickname thing works, except between me and my sister, but that doesnât count because my whole family is a little weird. Iâll just call you Malek, if thatâs all right. Or Mal for short, since weâre such buds now, what with you breaking into my various bedrooms for midnight visits and all. Okay, Iâm shutting up now. Here I go.â I press my lips together and gaze up at him, watching him struggle with dueling urges to cut off my air supply or break something over my head. Maybe heâs right about me being insane, because rather than terrifying, I find his indecision understandable. Heâs not the first man Iâve driven to the brink of murder. Heâs just the most capable of actually going through with it. âOh, one more thingââ âI know a way to keep that mouth quiet,â he snaps. Then he kisses me.
J.T. Geissinger is a #1 internationally bestselling author of twenty-seven novels. Ranging from funny, feisty rom coms to intense, edgy suspense, her books have sold over five million copies and been translated into more than a dozen languages. She is a three-time nominee in both contemporary and paranormal romance for the RITAÂŽ Award, the highest distinction in romance fiction from the Romance Writers of AmericaÂŽ. She is also a recipient of the Prism Award for Best First Book and the Golden Quill Award for Best Paranormal/Urban Fantasy. Sheâs a Southern California native currently living in Nevada with her husband and rescue kitty, Zoe.
Bad Cruz, an all-new romantic comedy with off the charts chemistry and sure to make you fall in love and LOL from Wall Street Journal bestselling author L.J. Shen is available now!
I would say Dr. Cruz Costello is my archenemy. But that would require acknowledging one another, which we havenât done in over a decade.
Heâs the townâs golden child. The beloved quarterback-turned-physician. Iâm the girl who got knocked up at sixteen and now works at a diner.
He is Fairhope royalty. I get my monarch dose from tabloid gossip.
Heâs well-off. IâmâŚwell, off.
When our siblings get engaged, Cruzâs parents invite both families to a pre-wedding cruise. Except Cruz and I find ourselves stuck on a different ship from everyone else. Cue ten horrible, insufferable days at sea with a man I cannot stand. (My fault, of course.) But when the alcohol pours in, the secrets spill out, and Iâm left with one question: Can I take another chance on love?
This whole day made me feel super prickly, but I still went with it. Unfortunately, I had no say in this, since I had lost a bet.
Then there was Trinity and my parentsâ wrath to think about. And the fact Bear deserved a mother who didnât look like she practiced the most ancient profession in the world.
Also, privately, I could admit I really, really liked the Anthropologie dresses.
âI think Iâm starting to get a feel of what youâre into,â Cruz said when we got out of the store, which by the way, smelled like a new car and someoneâs upscale bathroom.
I ignored his observation. I already felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman without being told I was on the cusp of self-discovery and inner transformation.
Next, we went to Free People, where I grabbed a few pairs of pants and some casual shirts and jackets. Then we went to a bohemian boutique, something small and not too pricey, and Cruz splurged on two pairs of sandals for meâboth orthopedic but surprisingly not hideousâand a little purse that didnât look like a tie-dyed squirrel.
I didnât thank him one time during the entire shopping trip, careful to remind him that it was his idea, not mine.
Finally, around two in the afternoon, when I was ready for my lunch (more like in danger of eating my own arm), he stopped in front of Prada.
He jerked his chin inside. âLadies first.â
âAre you crazy?â I glared at him. âIâm not really going to let you buy me anything from there.â
I knew Iâd joked about it the other day, but I also joked about having Benicio del Toroâs babies, and I sure as heck was closed for business.
âItâs an outlet.â
âItâs outrageous,â I countered. âI donât care how much money someone has, a five hundred dollar scarf is excessive.â
âQuality costs.â
âSay that to my Kmart shoes. Theyâve been servinâ me well for three years and counting. Even when I work double shifts.â I was surprised my feet didnât slap my face for lying.
âI try not to converse with inanimate objects as a general rule. Why do you even care? Itâs my money. I get to decide what I want to spend it on.â
âWhy would you want to spend it on a semi-stranger you donât even like?â
âThis semi-stranger I donât even like is about to become my family. Besides, Iâm a shitty tipper.â
We were blocking the entrance to Prada, but that was all right, because no one but us seemed irrational enough to wander in.
There was also a guard at the entrance. A flipping guard. It made me want to throw up. I would never, ever walk into a store where some people might not feel welcome.
People like my mom.
Or like me, for that matter.
âUgh, donât remind me.â I thumbed my nose at him, adamant to put up a fight. âIâd hate to be associated with you. You may ruin my reputation.â
âYour reputationâs in the shitter,â he reminded me kindly.
âYeah, well, maybe itâll find your kissing technique there, since it seems to be in the same destination. What the hell was that about yesterday?â
Classic aversion.
I was a master of misdirection.
âYou enjoyed it,â he said calmly.
âDid not.â
âDid, too.â
Lord, I had.
And not only had I enjoyed it, but the fact that it had been sweet and intimate and not filthy and carnal had completely disarmed me. I still felt my pulse against my lips. Both pairs.
Mental note number one hundred and sixty: Charge. That. Vibrator.
About LJ Shen L.J. Shen is a USA Today, Washington Post and Amazon #1 best-selling author of contemporary, New Adult and YA romance. Her books have been sold to nineteen different countries.
She lives in California with her husband, son, cat and eccentric fashion choices, and enjoys good wine, bad reality TV shows and catching sun rays with her lazy cat.
(Knightâs Ridge Empire #2) by Tracy Lorraine Release Date: November 18th
Wicked. Ruthless. Vicious.
Welcome to the underworld of Knightâs Ridge. An empire steeped in history, wealth, secrets, and lies. Where nothing is quite as it seems, and the shadows lingering around every corner are ready to drag you into the darkness.
If you want a white Knight to save you, youâre in the wrong placeâŚ
Wicked Summer Knight is a prequel to the Knight’s Ridge Empire series. It was previously released in the Hot Summer School Nights anthology
EXCERPT: âIâm gonna keep you safe, I fucking promise you, baby.â âI know,â I whisper, biting back my initial response to tell him that itâs not his responsibility. But I figure that if weâre gonna really do this, then I need to let go of some of the fights and just let him do what he needs to do. He never ups the pace. Nor does he break our kiss after Iâve said those words. Every single roll of his hips and caress of his tongue brands him straight into my soul. Itâs terrifying. Exhilarating. And fuck, I never want it to stop.
BLURB: USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author Tracy Lorraine brings you the next installment of her new dark mafia, high school bully romance series. My entire life has been a lie… And the one person I allowed myself to trust has shattered any illusion I had left about who I was and where I came from. The men around me have proved just how unworthy they really are, and now Iâm caught in the middle of something far more dangerous than I ever could have imagined. The secrets. The lies. They all tangle together. My father had to know this day would come. That his past would catch up with both of us. Sebastian wanted me as pawn, and then for himself, but he seems to have forgotten who heâs dealing with. Iâm Stella Doukas… mafia princess. I bend for no man. Not even the one whoâs stolen my heart.
Dear Readers, Wicked Princess is the second book in Stella and Sebastian’s trilogy and the first couples story in my Knight’s Ridge Empire series. This book is a dark bully romance that contains mature content and demanding alphaholes that some readers may find disturbing. You have been warned.
About the Author: Tracy Lorraine is a new adult and contemporary romance author. Tracy has recently-ish turned thirty and lives in a cute Cotswold village in England with her husband, baby girl and lovable but slightly crazy dog. Having always been a bookaholic with her head stuck in her Kindle Tracy decided to try her hand at a story idea she dreamt up and hasnât looked back since.
âSoooo fucking high. Jude had some good shit. I canât feel my face. Here.â He grabbed my hand and pressed my fingers to his cheeks. âCanât feel a thing.â Ezra smoothed my fingers up and down his cheeks. âYou can touch me, and I canât feel a thing. Itâs the only wayâŚâ His eyes stared right into mine, two amber pools bewitching me.
His fingers curled around my pointer finger and dragged it over his mouth, along the seam of his lips. He bared his teeth, nipping the pad gently, sending a thousand tiny shivers through me. I smothered a whimper, not wanting to break whatever spell heâd cast. Because I knew this wouldnât be happening if he wasnât high and Carrick hadnât tried to force himself on me.
âYouâre touching me,â he said, a strange reverence in his voice. As if he couldnât quite believe it. âYouâre touching me and I donât feel a thing.â A soft sigh slipped from his lips, making my stomach curl. In that moment, he sounded so content, so at peace, it put a lump in my throat.
âWhat happened to you, Ezra?â I whispered even though heâd closed his eyes.
âBad things, buttercup. Bad, bad things.â
Blurb:
From USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author L A Cotton, comes an emotional enemies-to-lovers romance. Angst… drama… friendship… and football. Will you survive senior year?
Ashleigh Chase has always had big dreams.
But when she wakes up in hospital with no memory of how she got there, her bright future dissolves around her.
Ezra Bennet has always felt like the odd one out.
But this time, he really screwed up and has no choice but to face the consequences.
Forced to retake their senior year, Ashleigh turns to Ezra only to find him cold and cruel and determined to keep her at arm’s length.
He’s the guy she always wanted.
She’s the girl who was never good enough for him.
But now there’s a secret between them, one that she’s determined to uncover.
She thinks she can save him. But she doesn’t realize yet…
He’s the one who ruined her.
About the Author:
Author of over thirty mature young adult and new adult novels, LA COTTON 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 sheâs not camped out in front of the laptop) youâll most likely find LA immersed in a book, escaping the chaos that is life.
âI want you to play the piano for me,â I mutter into her mouth.
Iâve waited twelve years for this. Twelve long years wishing I could watch the way her fingers dance across the keys. The way her mouth parts slightly as she concentrates, every now and then her tongue sweeping across her top lip to wet it. The lust behind her eyes as the passion of playing consumes her.
She pulls back, peering up at me. âYou want me to play the piano?â
My fingers slide underneath the spaghetti strap of her dress. âTake this off and play me that piece you wrote when we were kids.â
Her pupils dilate with her fixed gaze. âYou want me to take my dress off and play the piano?â
âNot just your dress. I want it all offânow.â I pull the strap down, exposing her shoulder to me, then the other, until theyâre both hanging freely on her arm.
Bella clears her throat and runs her hands down her dress. âYouâre kidding, right?â
She should know by now that I donât joke, especially not when it comes to matters of her obedience. âNo, I am most definitely not kidding.â
She will do what I say, or the repercussions will be much worse than her ridding herself of her clothes and pouring her heart into a song that I demand to hear.
Her trembling fingers attempt to adjust the strap of her dress, but I grab her hand and shake my head. âNow, Bella.â I press.
âCal,â she takes a calming breath, avoiding eye contact as her eyes stay affixed to the door, âIâm not taking my dress off. Thatâs absurd.â She takes a step forward as if sheâs planning to make an escape, but I throw my arm out, grabbing her around the waist.
âThen Iâll take it off for you.â
Blurb:
Bella
A pact made.
Two orphans who vowed to never part.
I was selfishâfor once, I had to be.
The last time I saw Callum he was standing at the dormer window as I sat in the back seat of the car.
His dark eyes foreign to me.
The hatred that radiated from his glare shot through me with more force than a silver bullet.
In a matter of minutes he had become a stranger.Â
No longer my best friend.
He was now a boy with a hollow heart who was headed down a dark path.
A path I knew Iâd never cross again.
Or, so I thought.
Callum
We had a dealâalways stay together.
The day Bella left, I vowed I would find her. And when I did, she would feel what I felt as I watched her pull away into a new life, with a new family.
Leaving me behind to endure a life that was wrapped inside the hands of a monster.
Itâs been twelve years, but Iâve finally found her.
Now itâs time for her to bask in the darkness sheâs created inside of me.
About the Author:
Rachel Leigh is a USA Today bestselling author of new adult and contemporary romance. You can expect twists and turns, bad boys, strong heroines, and an HEA.
Rachel lives in leggings, overuses emojis, and survives on books and coffee. Writing is her passion. Her goal is to take readers on an adventure with her words, while showing them that even on the darkest days, love conquers all.
Hostile Takeover, an all-new enemies to lovers mm romance by Lucy Lennox is now available!
It was supposed to be a prank. A silly frat boy dare.
One hot moment in a hidden storage closet. One kiss. No consequences.
But if you get that close to a man with fire in his eyes, youâre gonna get burned, and I was no exception. One taste of Grey Blackwood ruined me for life.
The way Grey sees it, I was the one who did the ruining. I humiliated him. Wrecked his life. Destroyed his future.
Doesnât matter that heâs clawed his way back and then some. Doesnât matter that heâs already top of the Wall Street food chain. The manâs ruthless. Heartless. And he likes his revenge served cold.
Now heâs taking down the companies owned by every frat boy who did him wrong. And when he comes for my familyâs company, the quiet life Iâve built for myself far away from Manhattan comes crumbling down, too.
But when Greyâs standing in our boardroom, threatening a hostile takeover and demanding I negotiate on behalf of my family, I donât see an enemy. I see the chance Iâve been waiting for.
The chance for another night in his arms, and hopefully a whole lot more.
Within seconds, heâd pulled me down the hallway to a closed door. Once he opened it, I saw the storage room everyone talked about. Shelving reached all the way to the ceiling, and most of it was covered in pristine club hand towels folded into neat stacks. A large ice machine hummed in the corner, and right next to it was an old-fashioned water cooler.
Grey grabbed a paper water cup shaped like a cone from the stack on top of the water cooler and filled it before handing it to me. I sucked it down greedily, if only to get that godforsaken butterscotch flavor out of my mouth.
âThanks,â I mumbled before moving forward to refill the cone. I brushed my shoulder against his chest as I stepped past him. Suddenly, the room seemed much smaller than it had before. The scent of coffee and laundry detergent surrounded me, but it was overlaid with the barest hint of apple shampoo.
I turned my head to see if that smell was coming from him, but at the same moment, he turned his head toward me to ask me something. The words died on his tongue as we found ourselves nose-to-nose. From this close, I could see his hair was hundreds of different shades of blond. A hank of it had fallen down over one eyebrow. It made him look vulnerable, unlike the proud man who seemed to have his shit together on the golf course and in class.
âHi,â I breathed.
âWhat are you doing?â he asked in a weary voice. The air between us was thick and heavy. If Iâd been any more sober, I would have chickened the fuck out and run out with my tail between my legs.
But I wasnât sober.
âI justâŚIâŚâ
âEllison.â He spoke my name like a warning.
âYouâre smart as shit,â I said stupidly.
âI know,â he replied, meeting my eyes in challenge.
âWhy do you work here with all these rich assholes around you? Itâs unbearable.â
His face widened in a reluctant grin. âSpoken by one of the selfsame rich assholes.â
I frowned, and Greyâs eyes followed the movement of my lips. My cock liked that. A lot.
âWhy?â I repeated breathlessly.
âGood money, better connections. I want to be an investment banker, and the only way to do it well is to work for one of those rich assholes one day. The men in that room control eighty percent of the countryâs investment capital. I want a piece of it.â
âButââ
He cut me off with the barest brush of his lips against mine. It was so light, so nothing, he could have written it off as an accident, but it was enough of a spark to light the whole damned stack of fireworks between us.
I lunged for him with both hands, grabbing his face and smashing my mouth against his. He grunted at the impact, but then Greyâs arms came around to hold me tight while he kissed me back.
He kissed me back.
I could barely breathe. It wasnât enough. My heart hammered in my chest with something like panic. What if he stopped? What if this all stopped and I couldnât have it anymore? This awkward, grappling kiss was everything. Everything. And I knew right away it was only the beginning.
I wanted more. I wanted him. I wanted to be naked and ready for whatever came next. My dick was out of fucking control right now, and I couldnât even figure out how to go about getting off. I just knew I wanted to get off with him. With Grey.
Meet Lucy Lennox Lucy Lennox is finally putting good use to that English Lit degree earned way back in the 1900s. She stays up way too late each night reading M/M romance because she is a sucker for a good story.
âShit, babe, weâre sorry, okay? We didnât know how it would go down, we only knewââ
âIt doesnât matter.â I shake my head, feeling tears burn the backs of my eyes. âWhatâs done is done.â
âYou donât need to do this,â he says, taking another step toward me. âWe can kiss and make up and everythingââ
âIf you say everything will be okay, I swear to god Iâll kick you in the balls.â
âFeisty.â He chuckles, and Wes and Rhett snort.
âThis isnât funny. Iâm trying to be serious and youâreââ
âYouâre prancing around in those itty-bitty panties, sucking on your fingers like a porn star and you expect us to take you seriously?â Rhett stands, folding his arms over his chest. âI hate to tell you, princess, but youâve got nobody fooled.â
âI hate you.â The words spill from lips before I can stop them.
âBut you love the way my cock feels buried deep inside of you.â He stalks toward me, slow, sure steps like a predator stalking its prey.
âStay the hell back, Savage.â
âOr what? Youâll kick me in the balls?â His lips twist with amusement. âDidnât you get the memo, baby. I like a little pain, and if it means I get in your pussy, bring. It. On.â
âThereâs something very wrong with you.â I shake my head, all too aware that heâs destroying my resolve.
Rhett reaches me, snatching the jar of chocolate spread from my hand. Shoving his finger inside, he scoops out a big dollop and pushes it toward my lips. âSuck.â
âFuck you.â
âThatâs the plan, princess. Went over forty-eight hours without being inside you, donât plan on waiting another hour.â
âOh yeah?â My brow lifts as I brace the back of the counter. With a big push, I leap down and take off toward the bedroom. âGuess youâll have to catch me first.â
âFucking crazy bitch,â I hear Rhett mutter as Dane and Wes explode with laughter.
We all know how this ends, and deep down, I want it.
I want them.
But I have no objections to making them work for it first. After all, they need to remember that Iâm their queen.
And itâs time they get on their knees and beg for my forgiveness.
The final instalment in the dark romance series from the bestselling author of the Rebels at Sterling Prep seriesâŚ
Loving one guy is hard.
Loving three⌠well, it should be more than a girl like Sadie Ray Dalton can handle.
But Sadie knows where she belongs, and itâs right beside her guys.
Life in Savage Falls is finally calming down. Dane is preparing to step up and take over the Red Ridge Sinners, Rhett is accepting an unconventional life with his princess, and Wes is adapting to his new role within the club.
But another enemy is circlingâone whoâs closer than they realize.
One who wonât stop until the Sinners MC are on their knees.
Sadie and her guys all want their happily-ever-after, but they should know by now, nothing in life comes easy.
One last time, theyâre going to have to fight for it.
And hope everyone makes it out alive.
SEVER is a full length dark enemies-to-lovers/bully romance. This is a why choose novel, meaning the main character has more than one love interest. It is book four in the series and must be read after SAVAGE, SACRIFICE, and SACRED. It contains mature content that some readers may find distressing.
About the Author:
Two angsty romance lovers writing dark heroes and the feisty girls who bring them to their knees.
She doesnât know it yet, but Clare is mine. Mine to train. Mine to protect. And mine to controlâŚ
The Bratvaâs Heir, an all-new standalone in Underworld Kings Series by USA Today bestselling author Jane Henry and Sophie Lark is now available!
Prisonâs a dark, bleak place. But Clare brings me light. My sweet little bird will be my ticket to freedom. The first time I saw her, I had to have her. From her big, dark eyes, to the curves she canât conceal… The way she can only hold my gaze so long. The way she shivers every time I move inside these chains. And most of all, the way sheâll bend the rules when I order her to… I know a natural submissive when I see one. Her degrees and titles donât change who she is: a woman who will bend to my will. She doesnât know it yet, but Clare is mine. Mine to train. Mine to protect. And mine to controlâŚ
Excerpt
âIâm nothing special,â she says, bluntly. I donât know why sheâs so intent on considering herself plainâshe may not have the obvious flashiness of a certain sort of woman, but Clareâs beauty is all the more powerful for its subtlety. The delicacy and luminescence of her skin, like the slightest touch would bruise it⌠those large, dark eyes, so liquid that they almost seem tearful⌠Her fragility makes me want to do terrible things to her. And yet, I almost want to protect her, too⌠like a little bird that could fit in the hollow of my hand⌠a nightingale, singing only for me⌠âDonât be modest. Youâve seen the way men look at you. Tell the truth, Clare.â She bites the edge of her lip, irritated at my use of her first name, and at my commanding tone. Still, I see the way that tone takes hold of her, compelling her to answer me. âMen always stare at women,â she says. âThey stare at you more⌠how could they not?â âMr. Rogov,â she says, sharply. âI told you, weâre not here to discuss me.â âI remember,â I say. But I think she will discuss herself if I push her. Because no matter how hard Ms. Nightingale tries to be stern, to maintain professionalism, I see the truth behind her thin façade. I see how she flinches when I bark, how she squirms under my stare. How her eyes flit up to meet mine when I use a gentler tone, and how her cheeks flush pink when I compliment her. Clare has been raised to respect authority. To crave it, evenâŚ
About Sophie Sophie Lark is an Amazon bestselling author who writes intense, intelligent romance, with heroines who are strong and capable, and men who will do anything to capture their hearts. She lives with her husband, two boys, and baby girl in the Rocky Mountain West.
She has a slight obsession with hiking, bodybuilding, and live comedy shows. Her perfect day would be taking the kids to Harry Potter World, going dancing with Mr. Lark, then relaxing with a good book and a monster bag of salt and vinegar chips.
About Jane USA Today bestselling author Jane Henry pens stern but loving alpha heroes, feisty heroines, and emotion-driven happily-ever-afters. She writes what she loves to read: kink with a tender touch. Jane is a hopeless romantic who lives on the East Coast with a houseful of children and her very own Prince Charming.
âYou misunderstand the nature of my guardianship over you,â he said, his voice soft and quiet, a direct contrast to the cruel tip of his scarred mouth and the hard words they formed. âI am not interested in coddling you, or tucking you in at night and wishing you sweet dreams. In fact, I am not interested in you at all beyond what you can do for me.â His fingers reached out to run lightly down my cheek before they grasped my chin in a powerful grip. âI am going to put considerable time and money into transforming you from this boring little thing into a woman worthy of the McTiernan household. I am going to send you to the best school, give you the best clothes, and teach you to be a lady and not this pathetic little girl. I am going to make your wildest dreams come true, Bianca. And in return? You are going to obey my rules.â
âWhat rules?â I whispered, embarrassed by my husky tone.
He was too close, that palpable power and ruthless energy emanating off his body like heat waves, buffeting me again and again until I felt light-headed. When I swayed slightly toward him, the hand tattooed with the rose clamped hard over my hip to steady me.
The bite of pain shouldnât have sent tingles down my spine straight to my sex, but it did.
It did and I almost hissed with the pleasure of it.
âOh, theyâre simple even for a little girl like you to follow,â he promised, his eyes cold enough to burn my skin while his hands on my flesh felt like fire. âOne. You do everything I say as soon as I say it without hesitation or attitude.â
I snorted, then winced as the fingers on my chin flexed tighter. âYouâve got to be kidding me. I think your name has confused you. You are not a lord and I am not your vassal.â
He bent closer until I could count every one of those thick black lashes, see the darker emerald ring of green around the pale irises. I held my breath, from fear or to block the assault of his sinful scent on my senses, I wasnât entirely sure.
âFor all intents and purposes, I own you. So, if I tell you to make me breakfast, you do it. If I command you to wear a certain dress to a specific ball, you do it.â His voice dropped deeper, a vibration I felt conducted through his hands on my body straight into my bloodstream. âIf I order you to your knees, Bianca? You get on your knees, and you do it with a gracious smile.â
âYouâre a fucking monster,â I hissed. âA perverted, fucked-up monster. If youâre hoping taking in two orphans will do something for your image, think again. Thereâs no hiding what you are, Tiernan. Not your thousand-dollar suits or your plastic smiles. Not even Brando and me.â I rolled to my tiptoes and snarled the next words. âYouâre an unlovable man with a hollow heart.â
He ignored my outburst entirely, but for a tiny muscle that pulsed in the square-cut edge of his strong jaw. âTwo.â The word landed like a whip strike, making me jump slightly in his hold. âYou do not touch anything in this house outside of Brandonâs room or your own. This is a house, not a home, and youâd do well not to get too comfortable here. There are secrets in the walls and monsters in the attic that eat little girls like you for breakfast.â
âBrandoâs seven, I canât tell him not to be curious,â I argued. âPlease, be reasonable.â
âIâll be reasonable when you show me that you can follow the rules,â he promised. âIn fact, why donât we start right now?â
My heart stopped, snagged in his dangerous web, and then began to thrash.
âGive me your locket,â he ordered, already moving his hand from my chin to the silver chain.
I jerked away, but there was nowhere to go. Pressed up against the vanity by his great hulking body, I was effectively trapped. My hand darted to his wrist, fingers pressing deeply into his skin as I tried to wrench his grip loose.
âNo,â I gritted between my clenched teeth as I struggled to stop him from taking the only material possession that was dear to me. âNO!â
He ignored me.
My nails tore through his skin, leaving bleeding welts in his hand and wrist the way the rose had once done to me.
Still, he pulled inexorably on the locket until with one tiny clink that sounded like a gunshot to my ears, the silver chain broke apart in his hands and came clean away from my neck.
When I lunged for it, he held it aloft, dangling easily out of my reach even when I jumped for it. I made another grab for it, but Tiernanâs free hand lashed out to grab my ponytail, yanking it back to keep me away.
Only when I was pinned, struggling helplessly, crying even though I hated myself for showing him how much the locket meant to me, did Tiernan lean close enough for his lips to whisper against my cheek.
âLet this be a lesson to you, little thing. If you will not give me what I want, I will take it from you.â
Blurb:
He arrives all dressed in black. Diamond cufflinks. A watch on his tanned wrist that cost more than we would ever see in a lifetime of work. He carries a single red rose for my mother.
Months later, Tiernan Morelli lays red roses on my motherâs grave. That same day, he tells me that he is my new guardian.
I should have known from the very start that he had more in common with the thorns than the rose. Now I know the truth: Iâm a pawn in his dangerous game of revenge. I was too young and naive. Now it’s too late to save myself from his clutches.
I belong to him.
About the Author:
Giana Darling is a USA Today Bestselling Selling Canadian romance writer who specializes in the taboo and angsty side of love and romance. She currently lives in beautiful British Columbia where she spends time riding on the back of her man’s bike, baking pies, and reading snuggled up with her cat Persephone. She loves to hear from readers so please contact her at gianadarling@gmail.com if you have any questions or comments.
The hottest player on the Moo U hockey team hangs a flyer on the bulletin board, and I am spellbound:
Rent a boyfriend for the holiday. For $25, I will be your Thanksgiving date. I will talk hockey with your dad. I will bring your mother flowers. I will be polite, and wear a nicely ironed shirtâŚ
Now everyone knows itâs a bad idea to introduce your long-time crush to your messed-up family. But I really do need a date for Thanksgiving, even if Iâm not willing to say why. So I tear his phone number off of that flyer⌠and accidentally entangle our star defenseman in a ruse that neither of us can easily unwind.
Because Weston’s family is even nuttier than mine. He needs a date, too, for the most uncomfortable holiday engagement party ever thrown.
There will be hors d’oeuvre. There will be faked PDA. And there will be pro-level awkwardnessâŚ
Boyfriend is a full-length stand-alone romance for Weston and Abbi
I wonder what Abbi is like. It doesnât matter very much, of course. I havenât agreed to marry her. Itâs just one day of my life. And people fascinate me, so even if Abbiâs family is irritating as fuck, I probably wonât take it personally.
But I have a good feeling about Abbi herself. Sheâs local, which is interesting. Vermonters are pretty cool. They have a rugged mentality, and they rarely complain. And theyâre usually hockey fans. Whatâs not to like about that?
The door opens, and I immediately lose my train of thought. Iâm blinking at a pretty blond woman with shoulder-length hair. My first reaction is all hell yes and thank you, Jesus.
Then I realize this is not just any woman. Itâs the hot waitress from The Biscuit in the Basket. The one who remembers every order without writing it down. The one who always seems to know when we need something more, or when itâs time to drop the check.
The one with the kissable ivory neck and gray eyes that always make me a little stupid. Iâve never asked her out, because itâs rude to hit on a girl whoâs just trying to get through her shift at work. But man, Iâd like to.
âHi,â she says, frowning at me. âWow. Youâre wearing a tie.â
âToo much?â I ask, my hand flying to the knot of silk at my throat. âI could lose the tie.â And, heck, why stop there? If she asked me to lose my trousers, Iâd do it. Anything for you, honey.
âNo, you look very respectful. Thank you for doing this.â
I blink slowly. I canât believe my luck. Sheâs my date? âYou work at The Biscuit in the Basket,â I say stupidly. âBut your name tag says Gail.â
She smiles. âThatâs right. The lazy manager put the wrong name on it, and then wouldnât redo it for me. But Iâm glad you can recognize me without the uniform.â
âWell, sure. You look nice. Your hair is different. Fluffier. Wait. Is fluffy a good thing?â I babble.
She laughs suddenly. âFluffy is fine. At work they make us wear those visor caps. Like weâre all golf caddies.â
I smile back at her and get a little lost for another moment. And her laugh is terrific. A little husky. I dig it.
âSo, uh, are you ready to go?â
Thatâs when I realize Iâm blocking her way out of her own door. âYup, sorry,â I stammer, leaping to the side like a frisky goat.
Oh, man. Nobody would call me Mr. Smooth right now, thatâs for damn sure. Iâm glad my teammates arenât here to witness this. Iâd never live it down.
Abbi locks her door. âWhere are you from, Weston? Is it too far to go home for Thanksgiving?â
âIâm from the eastern edge of Vermont. But I donât have a car, and we have practice tomorrow anyway. Heyâdoes your family drink? I brought a bottle of wine.â I hold it up, along with a bouquet of flowers, too.
âThatâs lovely of you,â she says. âI have a bottle in my car too. I find that where alcohol and my so-called family are concerned, more is more. Although Iâm driving tonight, so I canât drink.â
âYour so-called family?â
âWell, itâs complicated without being terribly interesting. But weâre going to my stepfatherâs house. I mean, he used to be my stepfather and now heâs married to someone else.â
âYour step-stepmother,â I say, recalling her text message.
âRight.â She leads me off the porch and down the walkway. âMy car is just around the back. It wonât take us long to get there. Youâll be eating turkey dumplings in no time.â
âSounds good. My body is, like, fifty percent wings and fries at this point. Iâm sure you know that. Iâm at your restaurant all the time.â
âTable number seventeen,â she says cheerfully. âThe hockey table. Do you know that we prep a different portion of wings depending on whether you guys win or lose?â
âNo, really? Why?â
âBecause you eat more and get drunker on the nights you lose than on the nights you win.â
âHuh. Thatâs very scientific of you.â
She unlocks an elderly Honda Civic and opens the driverâs side door. âLast chance to back out.â
I wouldnât dream of it. I have to remember how to be Mr. Smooth, though, and flirt properly with Abbi. Who knows? After a great meal, we could make this a night to remember. âIâm at your service,â I say, hoping it sounds a little sexy and not creepy. âLetâs get our turkey on.â
Huh. Mr. Smooth seems to be on vacation today.
I give myself a fifty-fifty shot at success. But Iâve faced worse odds. Game on.
Wicked Summer Knight is a prequel to the Knight’s Ridge Empire series. It was previously released in the Hot Summer School Nights anthology
EXCERPT
âWhat do you want from me?â I force out as his grip only gets tighter.
He smiles once more, but this time, thereâs no amusement in it. Only malice.
âI want to hurt you. Punish you. Ruin you. Break you,â he hisses, almost as if heâs actually talking to himself. âI want to make you cry, beg, plead with me for mercy despite the fact that you know itâll never come.â
My head spins as I try to register his words and the seriousness behind each and every threat.
âThatâs some heavy shit for someone you just met.â
âYou have no idea who you are, do you, Doukas?â
Blurb:
The truth is meant to set you free⌠but not my truth.
Mine has sent me deeper and darker, feeding my need for revenge. I want blood for those who wronged me and my family. And my so-called truth is ripping me apart, in a way lies never could.
Everyone else has moved on, but I canât. Not until someone pays.
And it seems that fate is on my side this time, because the hellion girl from the graveyard is going to be my saving grace⌠and provide me with everything I crave.
The pain.
The vengeance.
The blood.
She has no idea what sheâs been dragged into, but sheâs going to regret every step sheâs taken to get here.
Stella Doukas isnât like any other girl Iâve encountered before.
Sheâs fierce, determined, and much stronger than I anticipated.
I might have met my match.
And that is not a good thingâŚ
About the Author:
Tracy Lorraine is a new adult and contemporary romance author.
Tracy has recently-ish turned thirty and lives in a cute Cotswold village in England with her husband, baby girl and lovable but slightly crazy dog. Having always been a bookaholic with her head stuck in her Kindle Tracy decided to try her hand at a story idea she dreamt up and hasnât looked back since.
The hottest player on the Moo U hockey team hangs a flyer on the bulletin board, and I am spellbound:
Rent a boyfriend for the holiday. For $25, I will be your Thanksgiving date. I will talk hockey with your dad. I will bring your mother flowers. I will be polite, and wear a nicely ironed shirtâŚ
Now everyone knows itâs a bad idea to introduce your long-time crush to your messed-up family. But I really do need a date for Thanksgiving, even if Iâm not willing to say why. So I tear his phone number off of that flyer⌠and accidentally entangle our star defenseman in a ruse that neither of us can easily unwind.
Because Weston’s family is even nuttier than mine. He needs a date, too, for the most uncomfortable holiday engagement party ever thrown.
There will be hors d’oeuvre. There will be faked PDA. And there will be pro-level awkwardnessâŚ
Boyfriend is a full-length stand-alone romance for Weston and Abbi
I wonder what Abbi is like. It doesnât matter very much, of course. I havenât agreed to marry her. Itâs just one day of my life. And people fascinate me, so even if Abbiâs family is irritating as fuck, I probably wonât take it personally.
But I have a good feeling about Abbi herself. Sheâs local, which is interesting. Vermonters are pretty cool. They have a rugged mentality, and they rarely complain. And theyâre usually hockey fans. Whatâs not to like about that?
The door opens, and I immediately lose my train of thought. Iâm blinking at a pretty blond woman with shoulder-length hair. My first reaction is all hell yes and thank you, Jesus.
Then I realize this is not just any woman. Itâs the hot waitress from The Biscuit in the Basket. The one who remembers every order without writing it down. The one who always seems to know when we need something more, or when itâs time to drop the check.
The one with the kissable ivory neck and gray eyes that always make me a little stupid. Iâve never asked her out, because itâs rude to hit on a girl whoâs just trying to get through her shift at work. But man, Iâd like to.
âHi,â she says, frowning at me. âWow. Youâre wearing a tie.â
âToo much?â I ask, my hand flying to the knot of silk at my throat. âI could lose the tie.â And, heck, why stop there? If she asked me to lose my trousers, Iâd do it. Anything for you, honey.
âNo, you look very respectful. Thank you for doing this.â
I blink slowly. I canât believe my luck. Sheâs my date? âYou work at The Biscuit in the Basket,â I say stupidly. âBut your name tag says Gail.â
She smiles. âThatâs right. The lazy manager put the wrong name on it, and then wouldnât redo it for me. But Iâm glad you can recognize me without the uniform.â
âWell, sure. You look nice. Your hair is different. Fluffier. Wait. Is fluffy a good thing?â I babble.
She laughs suddenly. âFluffy is fine. At work they make us wear those visor caps. Like weâre all golf caddies.â
I smile back at her and get a little lost for another moment. And her laugh is terrific. A little husky. I dig it.
âSo, uh, are you ready to go?â
Thatâs when I realize Iâm blocking her way out of her own door. âYup, sorry,â I stammer, leaping to the side like a frisky goat.
Oh, man. Nobody would call me Mr. Smooth right now, thatâs for damn sure. Iâm glad my teammates arenât here to witness this. Iâd never live it down.
Abbi locks her door. âWhere are you from, Weston? Is it too far to go home for Thanksgiving?â
âIâm from the eastern edge of Vermont. But I donât have a car, and we have practice tomorrow anyway. Heyâdoes your family drink? I brought a bottle of wine.â I hold it up, along with a bouquet of flowers, too.
âThatâs lovely of you,â she says. âI have a bottle in my car too. I find that where alcohol and my so-called family are concerned, more is more. Although Iâm driving tonight, so I canât drink.â
âYour so-called family?â
âWell, itâs complicated without being terribly interesting. But weâre going to my stepfatherâs house. I mean, he used to be my stepfather and now heâs married to someone else.â
âYour step-stepmother,â I say, recalling her text message.
âRight.â She leads me off the porch and down the walkway. âMy car is just around the back. It wonât take us long to get there. Youâll be eating turkey dumplings in no time.â
âSounds good. My body is, like, fifty percent wings and fries at this point. Iâm sure you know that. Iâm at your restaurant all the time.â
âTable number seventeen,â she says cheerfully. âThe hockey table. Do you know that we prep a different portion of wings depending on whether you guys win or lose?â
âNo, really? Why?â
âBecause you eat more and get drunker on the nights you lose than on the nights you win.â
âHuh. Thatâs very scientific of you.â
She unlocks an elderly Honda Civic and opens the driverâs side door. âLast chance to back out.â
I wouldnât dream of it. I have to remember how to be Mr. Smooth, though, and flirt properly with Abbi. Who knows? After a great meal, we could make this a night to remember. âIâm at your service,â I say, hoping it sounds a little sexy and not creepy. âLetâs get our turkey on.â
Huh. Mr. Smooth seems to be on vacation today.
I give myself a fifty-fifty shot at success. But Iâve faced worse odds. Game on.
When I open my eyes, the dim light only enters one. The other is swollen shut, but through the fog, I can make out a blurry dark blob in the center of flickering yellow light. A head. A man. The voice.
I am sitting. My wrists lay on the arms of a chair. I canât move them.
âMrs. DiLustro.â He has the voice of an old man and his breath stinks of fermented plaque. âI need to knowââ
âWho are you?â
âFather Alfonso.â His reply is slow and drunken. âI officiated your wedding to Santino DiLustro.â
âAsshole.â I blink hard. Breathe in the incense. Scratch a sudden itch on my nose and cheek with an overly rough right hand, then lift my left off the arm of the chair.
Okay. So my arms are weak. Not tied down.
Itches attack my face. When I try to scratch my left eye, it tingles then explodes in pain like an afterthought.
âI cannot commit a sin,â Father Alfonso says. âPlease. Tell me if your husband has died.â
My mind is clearing slowly, but I cannot fathom what Santinoâs life or death has to do with a priest adding one more sin to a long, long list of them.
âHeâs dead.â I scratch my jaw and rub a colony of itches from my right cheek. My hand feels rough as lace. âShe killed him.â
I point to some place to the left where Gia exists in my mind, and Iâm about to say her name when I realize my hand is lighter than usual.
Father Alfonso leaves, hunched, touching surfaces and walls until he finds the door before he clicks it closed. When Iâm alone, I sit straight in the chair. Hold up my hand. My one good eye is full of gunk. I blink. Blink. Blink. When it clears, I know what the candlelight will reveal.
A room with plaster walls.
A tiny, darkened stained glass window.
I canât see close. The world is crisscrossed by the net Iâm caught inside.
But across the room⌠a thick wooden door. A cabinet with a small statue of the Virgin, surrounded by the unassertive yellow glow of candles.
When I scratch my face this time, itâs easier to identify the roughness of my fingertips.
Iâm wearing a veil.
Throwing it back, I see clearly and hold my left hand in front of me. My ring. Rosettaâs ring. A meaningless assembly of rock and metal that my husband etched with a secret and gave to me.
Itâs gone.
Blurb:
What doesnât kill you makes you a killer.
Santino DiLustro changed me. You canât spend time in bed with the devil without getting addicted to the heat.
Before him, I was a girl. Innocent and weak.
Now, Iâm a woman. A fighter. A killer.
Iâll burn the world down for him. Shatter the sky. But I will not break.
No. I will rise up and destroy whoever dares to threaten what my king has built, because I am forever his queen.
About the Author:
CD Reiss has a long history of aimlessly moving from place to place. She finally settled in Los Angeles where she earned a masterâs degree in cinematic writing from USC. After graduation, she ultimately failed to have one line of dialog put on film, but stayed in Hollywood out of spite.
Since screenwriting was going nowhere, she switched to novels. Soon after, luck arrived with a complete set of baggage. She now has over two dozen titles under her belt. Two of those are NY Times Bestsellers and a handful more are USA Today bestsellers. Her audiobooks have won APA Audie Awards and Earphones Awards, swelling her ego to an inhuman size.
She lives with her family, two cats and her long-suffering husband in a small Hollywood house thatâs been outfitted with huge, ego-sized doorways.
RELEASE BLITZ Title: Kings of Blood & Money An Underworld Kings Series Standalone Author: Ker Dukey Genre: Mafia Romance Release Date: October 8, 2021 BLURB This is not a story of love. This is a story of revenge and the bond created from it.
 Noah
The Gallo family took everything from us. They killed my mother and sister, leaving me and my twin brother fighting for our lives. My father was supposed to be there that night. He should have been there. Should have protected themâus. When you strip a man of all he cares about, youâre left with a soulless entity seething with primal rage. He promised to turn Gallo’s bloodline to dust to get his retribution. And he did. All but one.
Freya
I was seven years old when I was taken in the night. I donât remember much of life before that. All I know now is the glaring eyes of a boy who hates me, and the comfort I find in the boy whose face mirrors his. Iâm not part of this family, but theyâre all I have comparable to one. To hate is easy. And I do hate them. But to love even in hate is what hardens you, strengthens you, gives you reason. The truth is I shouldnât love them, that all these years are leading somewhere I wonât want to go. But I do⌠Love them. I love them both. The only question left now is, do they love me?Â
âYou throttled me.â She levels me with a stiff glare. âI remember seeing a bruise.â It was an impulse, a need to inflict pain with her pleasure, to ground myself. Yanking the neck of her sweater down, she scowls. âBecause you like to leave marks, right?â A shadow passes through the room as I stand and stalk toward her, devouring the space between us. Tilting her chin with my forefinger and thumb, I trace the light bruises blemishing her soft, creamy skin. I got carried away, held her too tight. Leaning down, I whisper against her ear, âYou want me to kiss them better?â Her intake of breath brings a smile to my lips. She likes the big bad wolf. No matter how much she tries to deny it, claim she hates me, her body doesnât. Fucking ditto. I swipe my tongue across her neck, capturing her with an arm around her waist. Her legs almost give in. Sheâs sensitive, her nerves firing. Closing my mouth over her sore little neck, I suck, kiss, caress the bare surface. Pulling away to face her, my balls draw up at the unfiltered lust blazing in her eyes. âAsk me to kiss you,â I tell her. Rapid breaths lift her chest up and down. âAsk me, Freya,â I command. âNo.â She closes her eyes, her tone husky. A dark chuckle rumbles past my lips as I grasp her jaw, cupping her beautiful face. âFucking ask me.â âI hate you.â âI hate you too. Now fucking ask me.â âKiss me,â she cries. Not a plea, but shame. Sheâs ashamed at how fucking badly she burns for the monster who frightens her so much. âSay my name,â I growl. âNoah,â she whines. âKiss me, Noah,â I instruct. Silence. I tug her forward, inhaling all her sexual heat. âSay it, Freya, and Iâll give you what you need.â âKiss me, Noah.â She sobs. My insides churn at the decision I make. Slamming my lips against hers, I ram my tongue past the seal of her delectable lips, taking my fill.
AUTHOR BIO
Ker Dukey is an international bestselling author.
Genres include: Dark Romance, Psychological Thriller, New Adult Romance, Romantic Suspense, Mafia Romance, MC Romance and more.
Ker, has over Forty titles published, held multiple #1 bestseller banners and chart-topping titles with the rights sold to numerous countries, translated in multiple languages, and have been adapted into audiobooks.
In addition to being an author, Ker is an annoying wife and a mother of three children + one dog (who thinks he’s human.) She has a passion for reading and binge-watching crime documentaries.
Find her on social media, where she loves interacting with her readers.
RELEASE BLITZ Title: Incubastard Author: Charity B. Genre: Dark Paranormal Romance Release Date: October 7, 2021 BLURB
Mishka Angels, demons⌠the afterlife. Iâd always thought they were bullshit. Until all my misguided beliefs were proven wrong by an infuriating, flippant asshole with horns who has no concept of boundaries. Summoning him was never the plan, especially since Iâm not willing to do what it takes to send him back. If Iâve learned anything from Loch, itâs that preconceived ideas are usually false, and the truth is much messier than fables. The theory of good and evil is flawed. Nothing is that simple.
Loch The only side of human nature Iâve ever encountered is vile and perverse, depraved and cruel. However, Mishkaâs none of those things. Sheâs an insufferable, snarky creature who makes me question everything I know about myself. The longer Iâm with her in this world, the less desperate I am to return to mine, which is absurd. I am son of Asmodeus. A prince spawned from lust to torment the damned. The mortal realm is not where I belong.
Incubastard deals with Christian lore that does not align with the Bible. It is completely fictional. If this will make you uncomfortable, please do not read this book.
Content Warning: This novel contains graphic scenes depicting blood and gore along with sexually explicit content and violence. For mature audiences only.
Rubbing my hands over my face, I turn around to go to my room. My stomach lurches up to my chest, yet it still takes a second to register that thereâs a hooded stranger with crossed arms leaning against the counter a mere few feet from me. As I open my mouth to scream, he lifts his head enough to show his devastatingly beautiful face wearing an impish grin. Before a single sound can leave my lips, my skin pulsates with tingling waves that crawl down my arms and legs. I lose the ability to use my knees, forcing me to turn my back to him and grab the edge of the counter. Attempting to hold myself up, I involuntarily moan while tides of supreme ecstasy roll from between my legs. My hand slips, crashing a plate around my feet, but I canât seem to care. The prodigious pulsing continues for such an inordinate amount of time, I think I may pass out. Itâs an orgasm on LSD. After what feels like an eternity, the frenzied vibrations begin to ebb, allowing my stiff fingers to release the counter. Somehow, I momentarily forgot about the man in the room with me. Spinning around, I find him still standing there, wearing the same wicked smile. âYouâre welcome.â With darting glances, I search for something sharp. My mind finally catches up with the knowledge that I just had a spontaneous mega-orgasm in front of an intruder who may or may not be here to kill me. âWh-what do you want?â He scoffs, standing straight to reach his full, impressive height. âYou called me, remember? Iâm here to do whatever you desire.â I donât dare take my eyes off him while my hands continue fumbling behind me, nearly crying in relief when I wrap my fingers around the handle of a knife. Seeing as I most certainly did not call him, heâs clearly off his meds. I try my best to keep my voice soft in a desperate effort to placate him. âI think youâre confused.â Attempting subtlety, I take tiny steps toward the kitchen doorway. His chuckle makes my nerves snap one by one. âIâm clearly not the one whoâs confused.â With tattooed hands, he tugs on the sleeves of his black leather jacket, walking toward me. I hold the knife out between us, clueless if I have the guts to use it. Narrowing his dark eyes, he reaches up to lower his worn brown hood, revealing more ink scrawled up his neck in weird symbols. âThatâs not going to do shit to me, but youâre more than welcome to have at it. Although, it would be a bit rude, seeing as, like I said, you fucking called me.â If my heart beats any harder, Iâm going to blow chunks. âPlease donât kill me.â His eyes narrow as if I insulted him. âNot allowed. Besides, Iâd much rather fuck you.â The way he speaks is incredibly odd, with an accent Iâve never heard. My gaze falls to his strange pants. What appears to be different tones of distressed leather are fused together into a unique patchwork. Itâs also odd that his jacket looks brand new, yet the hood beneath it appears as weathered as his pants. I shake the useless thoughts from my head, focusing back on the threat in front of me. His questionable fashion choices are not what I should be thinking about. If only I hadnât had so much wine. Thereâs a psychopath a few feet away who could very possibly rape me or worse, and I can barely stand up straight. The need to preserve my life overcomes any critical thinking I may possess. Taking less than a second to process my thoughts, I bolt out of the kitchen, sprinting for the front door. Right when Iâm about to reach the handle, I run smack dab into his solid form before falling back on my ass. He doesnât even sway from the impact. Tears wet my face in defeat. How on earth did he beat me here? Dark, straight hair falls over his face as he crouches down to my level. My stare lifts to the two twisted braids above his left ear when his harsh voice commands eye contact. âYou incited Maelprog flames with death blood, using the Ammalok Qew to call upon me by name. What could you have possibly expected to happen?â The words I understand have my chest heaving. âL-Leenaâs spell? It worked?â His unnerving laugh pushes me closer to the edge of my sanity while he stands, towering over me. âYou clearly got enough right that I ended up here.â His synthetic smile is tainted with a sneer. âWhat were you attempting to do, human?â Human? Barely comprehending his question, I scramble to my feet. Even though a voice in the back of my mind whispers heâs speaking truth, I canât accept it. This all has to be a stress-induced nightmare. âWhat are you?â I ask the question so quietly, I doubt he hears me until he winks. âItâll be much more fun to show you.â
AUTHOR BIO
Charity B. is a dark romance author who writes in horror, taboo, and most recently, paranormal romance. Charity has always had an interest in the more disturbing and horrific side of life, while also being an incurable romantic. The Sweet Treats Trilogy was her debut series, and she is constantly preparing for her next release. She lives in Wichita Kansas with her husband and ornery little boy. In her spare time, when she’s not chasing her son, she enjoys reading, the occasional TV show binge, and is deeply inspired by music.
Canary, an all-new not-to-be-missed, enemies-to-lovers standalone mafia romance from New York Times bestselling author Tijan is available now!
We were on the front lines in that world, the mafia world. There was nothing soft or glamorous about it. Who you were before no longer mattered. Names didnât exist.
I joined anyway. I had no other choice because they took my sister. Join. Find her. Try and make it out alive.
Then he won me in a poker game. I hated him instantly, thinking he was like my other bosses before him. He wasnât. He was worse.
He wasnât just cold. He was dead inside. It didnât matter that he was gorgeous. He was the most lethal thing Iâd ever met.
He was also the only person who could keep me alive, if he didnât kill me himself.
A/N This is a 102k mafia/cartel standalone. This is the most violent book Tijan has ever written. Trigger warning: references to sexual violence
âCanaries sing to save lives. I sing and people die.â
âIâŚâ I didnât even know. I couldnât explain what I didnât know. âAsk me about Jake in a different way.â âThere is no other way.â âYou know there is! Ask it in a different way.â I shoved up to my feet. This was the fight here. I was sick of the killing. I could not handle one more body, especially not someone I knew. My chest heaved. âAsk it in a different way.â I liked Jake. I was hurt by what he said, but he wasnât on my list anymore. I frowned. âWhat happened with Cavers?â âNone of your business!â he erupted, his hands flying in the air, but he was moving farther away from me. His back hit the wall, and he let me see him, how haunted he was, how stricken. He let it all out for me to see and read, though I wasnât sure he knew it. âI donât run my decisions through some pussy I like plowing.â Okay, now I was mad. âTake that back,â I said quietly. He swore, low and long. Then he moved, flipping a chair into the wall. It impaled there, and the wall held it. It looked like an abstract piece of art. âTake it back!â I clipped out, folding my arms over my chest. He looked away. I didnât know what was going on here, but fuck him if he didnât take back calling me pussy he liked to plow. I screamed, âTake it back!â âNo!â He was across the room and in my face in the next second. I braced myself, but he didnât touch me. He stopped just short of it, his breath in my cheek, his eyes taking me in, scanning my face. He was panicking. I saw it now, lurking there. Good! That filled me with satisfaction. My chest started pounding. No, that was my heart. It was thumping in my chest, getting stronger, fasterâa steady and powerful beat now. I could feel it all the way to my toesâin my fingers, my neck. His eyes lingered on my lips. He couldnât look away. Stark hunger flashed in his eyes, and he raised a hand, holding it in the air. It curved gently, as if he wanted to touch my neck, or the side of my face. But he didnât move. He just held it there, a few inches from my skin. His eyes lifted to mine. âYou bitch.â My heart still pounded, trying to reach him. âYouâre a murdering asshole,â I whispered back, seething. âWhat?âhe sneered. âYou want to fuck now? Forget you put a fucking gun to your head?â âDonât kill Jake.â He pressed into me, his eyes wild, on the edge of control. âWhy?â His breath was hot on me. He bent down, his eyes glittering now. Then he found his control. He rested one hand against the wall, next to my head. The other found my hip and slid up, moving under my shirt, raising it. God. I almost moaned. Wetness flooded me, and I started to throb. I wanted him. So fucking bad. He bent and his lips grazed over mine, my cheeks, my chin. Tingles raced through me. Jesus. I wanted him deep inside of me. I shifted, pressing against him, and both of us groaned from the contact. I began moving, a slow grind, and he was quiet, grinding back. This was different from the other times. The terms had flipped. Roles were changing. Everything was being upended between us.
About Tijan Tijan is a New York Times Bestselling author that writes suspenseful and unpredictable novels. Her characters are strong, intense, and gut-wrenchingly real with a little bit of sass on the side. Tijan began writing later in life and once she started, she was hooked. Sheâs written multi-bestsellers including the Carter Reed Series, the Fallen Crest Series, and the Broken and Screwed Series among others. She is currently writing a new series from north Minnesota where she lives with an English Cocker she adores.
âForbidden to Love is mafia romance at its best.â -J.A. Owenby, International bestselling author
Forbidden To Love, an all-new dark, forbidden romance set in the same world as Condemned to Love by USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author Siobhan Davis, is available now!
Natalia Mazzone has grown up knowing she is promised to a made man. As the only daughter of one of New Yorkâs most powerful mafia dons, she knows she canât refuse. Itâs her duty, and she would never dishonor her beloved father.
But the man sheâs promised to is a monster. And there is nothing but torture, pain, and heartache lying in wait.
So, she grabs happiness when she finds itâin the somewhat reluctant arms of Leonardo Messina.
Leo is her brotherâs best friend. A soldato for the Mazzone famiglia. A man with strong ambition and an even stronger resolve. He wonât allow them to give in to temptation, so Natalia is forced to love him from afar.
Until one forbidden night changes everything, and she readily hands Leo the key to her heart.
Leo risked everything for the one woman he can never have. He doesnât regret it. It saved Natalia from a life of hell, but his actions set her on a different course.
One that doesnât involve him.
Years have passed, and his feelings remain the same. Yet he keeps his distance, dedicating himself to his new role as underboss to Bennett Mazzone, while the love of his life is married to another man.
Until a twist of fate puts Natalia in his path again, and this time, he is powerless to resist.
Gently, I tuck her hair behind her ears, removing a handkerchief from my pants pocket and wiping her clammy brow. âI need to see the damage,â I softly say. âCan I unbutton your shirt to look?â Her big blue eyes look too trusting as she nods. With careful movements, I unbutton her white school blouse, hoping she canât see how my fingers are shaking as I slowly reveal her body to me. Iâm instantly appalled at the devastation on her skin. Bruising is already appearing in several places on her torso, mainly centered around her ribs on both sides, but thereâs an impression of a shoeprint on her chest and discoloration on her stomach. I stuff a hand in my mouth to strangle my agony, squeezing my eyes shut as I struggle to get a grip on myself. âLeo.â Her melodious voice is a sensual caress over my skin, helping to ground me. âDo I look that bad?â she whispers. My eyes snap open at that. âDolcezza.â I take her hand in mine. âYou look beautiful. Like always. But I cannot stand to see what those cunts have done to you. I want to go in there and riddle them with bullets until they stop breathing.â âI wouldnât oppose that plan,â she says, and I canât tell if sheâs serious or not. I shake my head. âNo, dolcezza.â I bring her hand to my mouth, planting a kiss on her warm skin. âDonât say that. I know you are hurting, but thatâs not who you are.â âThere is more darkness inside me than you realize, Leo. More hatred than I ever thought I was capable of feeling.â I donât like hearing that, but itâs naĂŻve to think she is immune to the darkness that is an inherent part of the world we inhabit.
Siobhan Davis is a USA Today, Wall Street Journal and Amazon Top 10 bestselling romance author. Siobhan writes emotionally intense stories with swoon-worthy romance, complex characters, and tons of unexpected plot twists and turns that will have you flipping the pages beyond bedtime! She has sold over 1.5 million books and her titles are translated into several languages.
Prior to becoming a full-time writer, Siobhan forged a successful corporate career in human resource management.
She lives in the Garden County of Ireland with her husband and two sons.
The Deceit of a Devil, the passion-filled and emotional conclusion to The Taste of an Enemy Duet from Holly Renee is available now!
Sinless. Stunning. Damaged. Tempting. Allie Taylor had been the girl I hated for as long as I could remember. And now she loathed me just as much. It didnât matter that I betrayed her to save her. Completely devastated and infuriated by my dishonesty, she had no intentions of ever trusting me again. Her trust was shattered, her hate raging on with each second. She would never look at me the same again. Our past was full of pain and lies that could never be forgotten. I knew what I did was irreparable, but I refused to let her walk away without another chance. I should have left things in the past. I didnât. I couldnât. I wonât. I needed her. Even if it cost me everything.
âWhat?â I chuckled as I slipped on my socks and shoes.
âNothing.â She shrugged her shoulders. âIâm just impressed, is all.â
I chuckled and Beck shoved his sisterâs chair, almost making her fall. âThatâs my friend, asshole. You donât get to be impressed.â
âNo. Sheâs right.â Josie was still staring at me too. âI really expected you to have the smallest dick.â
âI feel like I should be offended.â I leaned back in my chair.
âItâs your personality.â Allie shrugged. âYou know, cocky guy, small dick. Showy car, small dick.â
âOkay, Allie.â I pressed my elbows into my knees and looked across the fire at her. âTruth or dare?â
She stared at me, and I had a feeling that no matter what she picked she wouldnât do it. âTruth.â
I let my gaze slide to Eli before it went back to her. I shouldnât have even called her name. I should just ask her something stupid and move on, but my heart raced in my chest, and I didnât hesitate with what I asked her next. âWhen was the last time that you were truly turned on? I mean really and truly, couldnât-think-about-anything-else turned on?â
A few people snickered, but I didnât look away from her. She didnât pull her gaze away from me either as she answered, but I knew her answer was a lie the moment it left her mouth.
âWhen Eli kissed me.â
âCarson, truth or dare?â
âTruth.â
âWhen was the last time you were really and truly turned on? And I mean to the point that you actually considered kissing the girl?â
âOh shit.â That came from Olly, but no one said anything to stop us.
âJust about any time Iâm with you, but if youâre looking for a specific moment, the night the cops walked in while I was going down on you.â
Laughter rang out around us, but neither of us was deterred.
âAllie, truth or dare?â
âTruth.â There was no hesitation in her eyes. She wasnât scared of what I had to say.
âDo you actually like Eli, or are you just pissed off at me?â
âThis is the exact reason people think you have a small dick.â She crossed her arms. âYou assume that everything anyone does it about you when it isnât. I actually like Eli, for your information.â She tucked a blonde curl behind her ear. âCarson, truth or dare?â
âThis is about to get messy,â Josie whispered to Beck, but I heard her. She was right. It probably was.
âDare.â I cocked my head to the side and looked at her.
âI dare you to stop being such an asshole and just tell us what the hell your problem is.â
âMy problem?â I rubbed at my jaw. âCurrently my problem is you. You havenât barely spoken to me in days, youâve been avoiding me like the plague at community service, and nowâŚâ
âNow what?â She was angry.
âNow I have to sit here and watch you with him.â I pointed at Eli, and he had the nerve to fucking smirk at me.
âI havenât spoken to you because the last time we spoke, you made it very clear where we stood. Iâve been avoiding you because I donât want to deal with you, and youâre going to have to continue to watch me with him because I like him. And itâs the oddest thing, but he likes me too.â
âTruth or dare?â
âIâm done playing this stupid game.â She pushed out of her seat, and I knew that Eli was about to follow her.
âTruth or dare, Allie? Itâs not that hard.â
She spun back around to face me, and I could see the anger in her eyes. âFine. Dare.â She held out her arms because she thought by ending the truths, she was going to end this argument between us.
âI dare you to kiss me.â
âThatâs not happening.â Eli had the balls to say that out loud to me, and it took everything inside me not to close the space between us and finish what we had started last weekend.
âThe last time I checked, you werenât Allieâs boyfriend, and you donât speak for her.â I looked back to Allie, and she was staring at me. âAllie can either kiss me or she can drink.â I lifted the bottle of liquor and shook it between us.
âYou kissing me changes nothing.â She shook her head.
âThen it wonât hurt.â I shrugged my shoulders and tried to act like I didnât care one way or another, even though I didnât know what would happen if she walked away from me now. âIf youâre so into Eli and kissing me wonât change anything, then what are you so scared of?â
Iâm Holly Renee, a small-town east Tennessee girl who is obsessed with all things romance. I love bringing flawed, sassy, and real characters to life in a way that makes you feel like youâve been best friends with them for years. No two Holly Renee books are the same, but if you love real, relatable, fun female characters and swoon-worthy heroes, Iâm your girl.
When Iâm not writing or reading, you can find me momming so hard, being disgustingly in love with my husband, or chilling in the middle of a lake with my sunglasses and a float. #lakelife
I have a 2-year-old adorable little man who is as wild and sweet as they come and a baby girl on the way.
When Sparks Fly, an all-new sweet and sexy best friend standalone romance from New York Times bestselling author Helena Hunting is available now!
Charming, hilarious, and emotional…When Sparks Fly is Helena Hunting at her very best!
Avery Spark is living her best life. Between her friends, her sisters, and Spark House, the event hotel her family owns, she doesnât have much time for anything else, especially relationships. Sheâd rather hang out with her best friend and roommate, Declan McCormick, than deal with the dating scene. But everything changes when she is in a car accident and needs someone to care for her as she heals.
Declan avoids relationships, giving him a playboy reputation that he lives up to when he puts a one-night stand ahead of a promise he made to Avery. While he may not have been the one driving the car, he feels responsible for Averyâs injuries and is determined to make it up to her by stepping into the role of caretaker.
Little did they know that the more time they spend in compromising positions, the attraction theyâve been refusing to acknowledge becomes impossible to ignore. When they finally give in to the spark between them, neither is prepared for the consequences. Their love is fragile and all it will take is a blow from the past to shatter it all.
Commotion from across the field catches my eye. Two of the riders seem to be at odds with each other. The hand on hip, head tip, nose-to-nose business gives me reason to believe thereâs some kind of disagreement happening. âThat doesnât look very friendly.â I nod in their direction. âMaybe the horses need a time-out,â Harley mutters. I give her the side-eye, and she fights a smirk. âUh-oh, we have hand and hobbyhorse flailing,â London says, pulling my attention back to the field. The argument seems to be heating up, not cooling down. âYou need to deal with that.â London gives my shoulder a shove. Sheâs amazing with finances and sheâs great at connecting me with the right vendors, but dealing with conflict is not her strong suit. âNot in the mood to mediate stuffed horses?â I drop my bag on the ground beside Harleyâs feet and briskly cross the field as the argument escalates to yelling. Iâm about twenty feet away when one of the men hauls off and whacks the other one with his hobbyhorse. âWhoa! Whoa! Gentlemen! Time-out. Thatâs not very sportsmanlike conduct!â I call. My admonishment goes unheeded, and the two men begin dueling with their hobbyhorses. The bigger of the two jabs the other man in the stomach and snatches his hobbyhorse when he loses his grip on it. âGentlemen! Please!â I shout, but itâs hard to be heard over their yelling and the newly formed crowd of hobbyhorse enthusiasts who have gathered and are now heckling the fighters. Two other men toss their hobbyhorses to the hobbyhorse-less man with shouts of âKick his ass!â And here I thought this was a chill sport. Apparently Iâm very, very wrong. The hobbyhorsers face off again, each one holding a broom horse between their legs and another like . . . a sword, maybe? It reminds me of medieval jousting. Especially when they start stomping their feet, pawing at the ground, and prancing in place. I know things are about to escalate when they shake their heads back and forth, braying loudly and breathing out through their noses in a hardy snort. Then they run toward each other, while yelling. Even if theyâre beating on each other with stuffed horse heads, Iâm not interested in anyone ending up with a concussion. I jump in between them before they collide, which I realize a second too late puts me in a very perilous position. However, the man on my right swerves at the last second and ends up crashing into the trough, toppling it and at least half a dozen of the âfeedingâ hobbyhorses. The other man skids to a stop mere inches from me, loses his balance, and falls backwards onto the ground. It rained yesterday, so while itâs sunny and dry now, the ground is still soft and mucky. And he happens to land in a seriously squishy pile of muddy grass. He also manages to hit himself in the family jewels with the hobbyhorse. He rolls onto his side, clutching the muddy horsehead and his junk. Itâs quite the spectacle. Before it turns into absolute mayhem, I grab the megaphone from the group MC and shout, âWhoa, Nelly!â like an idiot. However, it does the trick. Every single one of them freezes. âRider number seventeen and twenty-three, you are disqualified from this round for roughhousing and inappropriate use of your hobbyhorse!â Iâm totally making this up on the fly, but someone needs to get these guys under control, and they donât seem to be able to manage it on their own. The guy who nut slapped himselfânumber twenty-threeâpicks himself up off the ground and hobbles gingerly over to the bench, which is now assigned to disqualified hobbyhorsers. Number seventeen throws himself down on the other end with a huff. I lower the megaphone and cross my arms. âThis is supposed to be about team building and sharing something youâre passionate about. If you want to joust, I suggest you either join a club or interview for a position at Medieval Times.â
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.
Kay Daniels Romance 