The moon shone brightly above my head. I glared at it.
It reminded me of fighting, of using moonlight to snipe. Shooting targets in the dark with Cassidy, popping rounds downrange and smelling the fresh scent of hot brass and cold dirt. Good practice and good times.
“Got any gum?” Cassidy asked.
“Yeah. But it’ll cost you,” I replied.
“Seriously? You can’t let go of capitalism for even one second?”
There was amusement in her voice. I held the piece of gum between my fingers for a moment. She made a move for it, and I backed away.
“Predictable,” I said.
“Then show me how to bring a man down,” she replied.
“You already know how to do that. You’ve got a rifle.”
“I want to know how to do it without a rifle. With my bare hands.”
“That’s optimistic of you.”
She was strong—agility and speed packed into a slender body, all lean, tough muscle. She would have been a good cop, I guess. Of course, they said the same thing about me, and look what happened.
“I’ll teach you,” I agreed. “But first, the price for gum.”
Gum. It was stupid. Even gum was a precious commodity now. I was down to my last pack.
“All right. Name it,” she huffed, rolling her eyes.
A kiss. That was what I wanted. To pull her to me and hold her body against mine and feel, even for a moment, that I deserved to be loved by someone like her.
I hesitated for too long. She blinked, slowly, and I knew she could read my mind.
She always could.
“You can keep it,” she said, brushing off my solemn stare. “Whatever.”
I tossed the gum to her. She caught it, neatly. No hesitation. Pure reflex.
She was relieved: I could see it in her face. She had been afraid I would try to kiss her. That wasn’t allowed. She knew it and I knew it, but the desire was there, and I wasn’t the only one who felt it. Not by a longshot. That was what scared her the most…and nobody knew her better than I did.
“Got your six,” I murmured.
Memories. They’re fatal. You can’t get away from them.
Today we have the sales blitz for Jayne Frost’s MISSING FROM ME audiobook! Check it out and be sure to grab your copy now!
Title: Missing From Me
Author: Jayne Frost
Genre: Contemporary Romance
About Missing From Me
As the drummer for the band Caged, I’m the poster boy for living the fucking dream. I’ve got it all. Success. Money. A new woman in my bed every night.
Too bad it’s all a façade.
The only thing I really want, I can’t have — Anna Dresden.
When I decided to follow my dream, she was the price. But I never forgot her. Never moved on.
And then she was there, backstage after one of our shows. That’s when I knew — Anna was mine, would always be mine. And if she gave me a half a chance, I’d convince her.
When Sean Hudson walked out of my life, he shattered me. Broke me in untold ways. Now it was my turn to run.The last thing I expected Sean to do was follow. Especially since I was wearing another man’s ring. Never mind it was just for show.
My marriage was over — had been for a year.
But that didn’t matter. Sean was my past. I couldn’t survive his brand of hurt ever again.
Soul mates, he used to call us. Too bad there was no such thing.
Missing From Me
Audible Narrated by: Jacob Morgan and Elena Wolfe
4 YEARS AGO
The front door slammed, shaking the walls in our small apartment. I snuggled closer to Anna’s side and buried my face in her hair.
Logan’s agitated voice cut through the fog of near sleep.
“Dude, wake up!”
Whatever mess my best friend had gotten himself into, he’d have to solve it on his own. This was one of Anna’s rare mornings off, and since we’d had the apartment to ourselves, we’d stayed up late, listening to the rain and having lazy sex until we’d passed out.
Smiling at the thought of a repeat, I grumbled in Logan’s general direction, “Go away. I don’t have any condoms. Carry your ass to the store like a normal person and leave us alone.”
His footsteps echoed in the tiny room, and then he was beside me, his long fingers digging into my shoulder as he gave me a hard shake. “I’m serious. Get up.”
A frustrated groan escaped my lips when Anna twisted in my arms. She propped herself up on one elbow, wiping the sleep from her eyes. “What do you need, Lo?”
A swift kick in the ass.
Rolling onto my back, I smothered my face with the pillow, hoping he’d get the hint. Of course, he didn’t.
Cursing under his breath, Logan rooted around under the comforter.
“Hey!” I snarled, tossing the pillow at him. “Whatever you’re looking for, I don’t have it.”
Running an agitated hand through his blond hair, Logan glared at me.
“Where’s your remote?” Anxiety laced his tone when I didn’t answer right away. “For the TV, douchebag—where’s the remote?”
Anna fumbled around on the nightstand and then handed him the clunky device. “What’s wrong with the TV in your room?”
Logan walked to the end of the bed and took a seat.
Anna sat up, scowling. “Make it quick.” She slumped against the headboard, glaring at the back of Logan’s head. “Seriously, Lo, hurry up. I have to pee.”
Logan ignored her, all his attention focused on the screen as he flipped through the channels. His shoulders sagged when he reached CNN.
Cable News? Now he had my attention. The only things Logan ever watched were MTV, VH1, or the Cartoon Network.
I popped up to see what was so important, but something told me I didn’t want to know. “What’s going on?”
“Quiet,” Logan whispered.
Buttoning my lip, I reluctantly focused on the screen where a stone-faced commentator stood in a field, fat droplets of rain pelting her microphone.
“. . . live footage from the scene of the tragic accident outside of Fredericksburg, Texas this morning where two members of the super-group Damaged lost their lives in a fiery crash. At this point, we’re unable to confirm the identities of the deceased. Damaged, arguably the hottest band in the country, just completed a series of shows in the Southwest and . . .”
The camera panned out for a wide-angle shot. Wisps of smoke rose from the wreckage, dissolving into the gray morning sky.
A gasp from Anna. “Oh my God.”
She crumbled against me, her small hand curving around my waist as she buried her face in my chest. Unable to make sense of what I was seeing, I stroked her hair with numb fingers.
After a few moments of stunned silence, Logan jumped to his feet. “What the fuck is she smiling about?”
Confused, I blinked at him. “Who?”
“The fucking reporter.” He pointed at the TV with a shaky hand. “What the hell is she grinning for?”
I shifted my gaze back to the screen, and sure as shit, the reporter was smiling. Just a slight upturn of her glossy lips.
I tightened my grip on my girl. “It’s her job, man. She doesn’t . . .” Emotion clogged my throat, and I struggled for breath. For words. “She doesn’t know them.”
But then, neither did we. Not really. Damaged hailed from Austin, our hometown. And over the last five years, as their star ascended, our paths had crossed on occasion.
Our band, Caged, was one of the many groups on Sixth Street that loosely followed the Damaged blueprint. Since high school, we’d been playing the same bars where Damaged got their start, hoping a little of their magic would rub off.
The news report abruptly cut to KVUE, the local ABC affiliate. Terri Gruca, the nighttime anchor, sat stoically behind the half-lit desk, her co-anchor nowhere in sight.
“Thank you, Sandy.” Terri blinked into the camera. “We’ve just got word at the studio that Rhenn Grayson, lead singer for the Grammy winning band Damaged, and Paige Dawson, lead guitarist, were pronounced dead at the scene of the accident on Highway 290 this morning.” She looked down at the copy wobbling in her shaking hand. “Rhenn’s wife, singer Tori Grayson, and drummer, Miles Cooper, were airlifted to Brackenridge Hospital via Care Flight. According to band manager, Taryn Ayers, Mrs. Grayson and Mr. Cooper are both in critical condition. The bus driver was also pronounced dead at the crash site.” Still photos of Rhenn and Paige appeared on a split screen in the background behind Terri’s head. “Our prayers go out to the families. After a brief commercial break, we’ll cut to the CNN studio for further updates on this tragedy and a look back at the lives of these two gifted musicians.”
My head pounded as a commercial for toaster strudel flickered across the screen. Smiling faces and cheery voices, touting the virtue of strawberry jam tucked inside a fluffy pastry shell. Somewhere, people were probably eating that shit.
But not Rhenn or Paige.
“They were twenty-four years old,” Logan murmured.
As he turned to face me, questions clouded his arctic blue eyes. The same questions I’d seen every day since the first time we met. About death, and why it visited some while leaving others alone. Death was what brought Logan and me together, after all. Our shared bond. Two kids whose mothers would never sit at the long table in Mrs. Varner’s classroom handing out cookies. Because our mothers had “passed.”
That’s the polite term people used when someone died. The same folks made sure to tell you they were “sorry for your loss.”
Which I always found funny, since my mother wasn’t lost. She was dead.
Rhenn’s voice boomed from the speaker on the worn-out TV. Smiling his most iconic smile, he stood back to back with Paige as he crooned the band’s latest hit.
I leaned forward to drink it all in. Because that’s all that was left now, bits of light and shadow caught on tape.
Slithering from my loose hold, Anna stumbled to her feet. “I’ve got to pee.”
Before she got away, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and then slipped my arms around her waist to pull her between my knees.
Resting my forehead against her chest, I breathed deeply, her peach scent soothing me like a balm. “I love you, Anna-baby.”
She sifted her fingers through my hair until I stopped shaking, and then kissed the top of my head. “Love you too.”
Reluctantly, I let her go, and she retreated into the tiny bathroom. Through the paper-thin walls, I heard her crying softly.
When she returned, her face splotchy and her eyes glistening with leftover tears, I gave her a soft smile and lifted the covers so she could crawl in beside me.
An hour later and we still hadn’t moved, like if we stayed here, it wouldn’t be real.
But it was.
When they showed the Care Flight helicopter on the roof of Brackenridge Hospital for the second time, I snapped. “Change that, will you?”
Logan flipped the channel to MTV while I reached for the pad of paper I kept beside the bed to jot down lyrics.
Like everyone else, the music channel was covering the Damaged story. But instead of reporting what everyone already knew, they were running a special broadcast about the three lesser-known bands that had followed Damaged up the ladder.
A solemn voice spoke over a montage of snippets flickering on the screen.
“While it stands to reason that Leveraged, Revenge Theory, or Drafthouse will fill the gaping hole left by today’s tragic event, a few lesser-known groups from Austin have amassed quite a following.”
Jolted by the familiar beat, my gaze snapped to the television where footage of Caged performing at the Parish flashed on the set.
“One such group, Caged, is currently playing the same venue where Damaged got their start some five years ago.”
The camera panned to the front of my drum kit where the band’s logo, a lion inside a gilded cage, shimmered under the lights.
“Like many of the smaller Sixth Street bands, Caged is still fighting for notoriety outside this small, but illustrious, stretch of road.”
“Oh my God,” Anna whispered, squeezing my hand. “That’s you.”
Guilt flooded my insides, sweeping away the momentary jubilation.
They’re dead, I reminded myself, turning my attention back to my lyrics.
Voices dying on the breeze, eyes now see what no one sees.
Will you be among the masses, forever frozen as time passes?
As I pondered the morbid compilation, the incessant ringing roused me from my next thought.
“Answer that call, dude,” I grumbled to Logan’s back.
He glanced down at his hand as if he just realized he was holding the phone. Swiping a finger over the screen, he took a deep breath before lifting the device to his ear.
“Hey, Chase.” Logan pushed to his feet and began to pace in a tight circle, glancing at the television every few seconds. “Of course I heard.” Stopping in his tracks, he listened intently. “Tonight?” He glanced at me, brows drawn together over troubled blue eyes. “I don’t know. Let me talk to Sean first.”
Tossing the phone on the bed, Logan dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling. “That was Chase. He wants us to do a set tonight.”
My stomach twisted as the shock rolled through me. “Why tonight?”
Logan’s eyes met mine, conflicted. “There’s going to be some kind of candlelight vigil.” He cleared his throat. “They’re expecting music, so someone’s got to take the stage.”
Might as well be us.
About the Author:
I’m an author who hails from Texas (by way of California), currently living in Sin City.
A romantic by nature, I believe in fairytales and happily ever afters. And music. Because the best stories always have a soundtrack.
Title: Nowhere Girl
Series: Foundlings #1
Author: Fiona Keane
Genre: YA Romance
Release Date: December 12, 2017
Publisher: Limitless Publishing
They thought sending me to this supposed tropical paradise would keep me safe. But there’s no place safe for me now. Not when the memories won’t leave me alone.
I didn’t know what the universe had in store for me, but I definitely didn’t expect Jameson Burke. People think he has more secrets than I do, but he showed me his true self – his smile, his thoughtfulness, his love.
I can’t afford to fall so far, so deep. Not after what happened. I should run, but somehow my heart keeps coming back to him…
I had my own reasons to run. Little did I know the most important piece of my story started and ended with the quiet girl sitting next to me in seventh period.
Sophia Reid’s shy smile brought my soul out of hiding. Through her, I learned what starting over really means.
But if I give in to this love, I’ll put us both in danger.
For a short time, I was whole again, but what they say is right. The old me is dead, and the new one will never know love again.
Jeri’s Book Attic - “It is such an amazing feeling to discover a new author you like and it is even more amazing if you recognize it’s a debut for the author too.”
Fueled by coffee and rainy days, shelves of books consuming her home in the Pacific Northwest, and a vivid imagination, Fiona writes about love because she believes the world needs more of it. She could spend eternity lost in a story, taken into someone’s thoughts while she is left lingering there long after the pages have turned. Fiona works to meld themes in the current world and spin them into stories of longing, determination, and hope. Her characters are relatable and relevant, as they battle their own fictional version of existence.
He knows if she's been bad or good.
Amidst the sugarplums and mistletoe, fashion stylist Julia Bennett is every inch a scrooge. Known for her ice-queen ways, she's having a meltdown over a botched business deal and an upcoming milestone birthday. Add the pressure of forced holiday cheer, and she's ready to dive into the spiked eggnog and not come out until summer.
Warren Stone, president and owner of the Sugar Rush Candy Company, is determined to make Julia slow down and enjoy the holidays. As her friend and confidante for thirteen years, he knows her better than anyone. But when decking the halls leads them to an explosive, sexy night, everything suddenly changes.
And when Warren decides Julia is all he wants for Christmas, will she risk their longtime friendship for the gift of love?
Julia blinked at his hard tone, her gaze shifting to his closed office door. “I beg your pardon?”
Warren opened the door. “In. Now.”
Her features tightened with resistance just as the elevator doors opened and several employees emerged, their voices rising in chatter. Julia crossed the hallway in front of them, her shoulders rigid. He caught a whiff of Chanel No. 5 as she passed him.
He entered the office behind her and closed the door, flicking the lock shut.
“You are not to take out personal crap on my employees,” he said. “That’s not how I run this company.”
Julia’s lips compressed. “Odd that you’ve never before questioned my treatment of your employees. And it wasn’t personal. She needed to know she’d screwed up.”
“Announcing the holiday party early is not screwing up,” Warren replied evenly. “You’re pissed off because you’ve had a shitty week, you have too much on your plate, an old bucket list has thrown you off your game, and you don’t know what to do with the fact that we fucked the other night.”
Two spots of color appeared on her cheeks. “I seem to recall that what I did with that fact was tell you it wasn’t going to happen again. After which you informed me in excellent caveman style that I was wrong. You seem to forget I’m never wrong.”
About this, you are.
He bit back the words. He hadn’t become the president of Sugar Rush by throwing his weight around. He knew how to bide his time, work his way into getting what he wanted. And damned if he didn’t want her more with every passing second.
“Well?” Julia put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Are we done here?”
Under her make-up, purplish smudges shadowed her eyes. Brackets of tension lined her mouth. His jaw tightened.
“You had a migraine yesterday,” he said.
“What the fuck do you care?” Julia snapped.
Warren’s hands flexed. He was used to her quick-fire cursing, all the more effective when delivered by a woman who looked like royalty, but he didn’t like being the recipient of her wrath.
“I’m putting Mia Donovan in charge of the Sugar Rush holiday party,” he said.
“You’re firing me?” Julia stared at him, her eyes widening. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.” He steeled himself against her shock and the knowledge that he was hurting her. “You’ve planned it for the past ten years, and it’s time to hand it over to someone else.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“Yes, I do. Sugar Rush is my company. This is also the event where I’ll be announcing my retirement. You’re not going to plan it.”
“Because I have too much on my plate?” Julia stopped in front of the windows, her arms crossed and her fiery gaze fixed on him. “Thanks for your concern, Daddy, but I assure you I can handle everything I take on.”
“That’s why you’re such a success. It’s also why your headaches are getting worse.”
“You are not my fucking doctor.”
She barked out a laugh. “You need to rethink this retirement thing, Warren. It’s making you soft.”
Given the state of his dick, he was anything but soft.
“If you won’t delegate your projects, I will,” he said.
“Because you can’t stop being the boss, even if you think otherwise.” Julia paced angrily to the desk, her eyes flaring with blue ice. “Why are you retiring, Warren? Everyone knows you’re the power behind the throne, much as you’ve let the boys take all the glory. Three months—hell, one month from now when you have nothing to do and no one to order around, you’re going to wonder why you made such a bad decision.”
Warren’s jaw clenched. He was sick of getting pushback from all sides. “I’ve been in business my entire life. I know what I’m doing.”
“So do I, dammit,” Julia retorted. “I don’t need you looking out for me.”
“I will always look out for you.”
She came to a halt, her whole body stilling. By contrast, Warren’s heartbeat kicked up, sudden heat flooding his veins. Their gazes met across the room, a crackling electric current firing through the air.
Julia took a breath, her breasts heaving beneath her jacket.
“Goddamn you, Warren Stone,” she whispered.
“I told you to stop swearing.” He advanced, his own breath increasing, his hands fisting and unfisting at his sides.
Rebellion tightened her features. “And if I don’t?”
“You sure you want to find out?”
He closed the distance between them, his lust flaring like a match to dry leaves.
What the fuck was going on with them?
The question flared like a comet through his mind and died just as fast—because he didn’t care about the answer. His mind was consumed with the thought of tasting her red lips again, sweet like cherries, spicy like peppers. Her mouth could deliver an insult as sharp and searing as a blade, but he knew—had always known, even if he’d smothered the knowledge—that the sounds issuing from Julia Bennett’s mouth could also be smooth, hot murmurs of lust that rushed straight to his blood. Weakening him of all thought, all control, inciting him with the urge to—
He grabbed her shoulders, hauling her soft, slender body against him. He’d always loved the contrast of Julia, the sharp-tongued, acidic queen and the relentlessly devoted aunt. The rigorous boss who shot orders like arrows, and the loyal friend who bought Hailey’s favorite peanut butter, sent care packages to Gavin Knight when he was deployed in Iraq, spent hours on end with Evan at the hospital.
He stared down at her fine features, pale skin, and wide blue eyes that he’d seen almost every day of his life for the past thirteen years—and suddenly now it felt as if he were looking at her for the first time. Had he never noticed that tiny birthmark right beneath her left eye? Or the silver flecks in her irises, like falling snow? Or the perfect curve in her upper lip, tempting him to put his tongue there and—
Oh, he’d noticed all right. He’d just tried to pretend he hadn’t.
“What the hell am I going to do with you, Julia?” he muttered.
“Fire me, apparently.” Her tone was bitter, her eyes blue fire.
Her gaze flickered involuntarily to his mouth, her lips parting. He slipped his hand beneath her chin, lifting her face to his. His heart jackhammered. Her breath brushed against his mouth, the familiar scent of her—Chanel No. 5, lavender soap, pure Julia—suddenly exotic and tantalizing.
“I’m going to let you go,” he said slowly, “and take two steps back. I want you to reach under your skirt and take your underwear off… if you’re wearing any.”
New York Times & USA Today bestselling author Nina Lane writes hot, sexy romances about professors, bad boys, candy makers, and protective alpha males who find themselves consumed with love for one woman alone. Originally from California, Nina holds a PhD in Art History and an MA in Library and Information Studies, which means she loves both research and organization. She also enjoys traveling and thinks St. Petersburg, Russia is a city everyone should visit at least once. Although Nina would go back to college for another degree because she's that much of a bookworm and a perpetual student, she now lives the happy life of a full-time writer.
Queen of Corona
I bet you thought I was going to fold. That I wouldn’t be able to resist that fine china-white powder resting right there in the sanctuary of my pocketbook.
But it stays tucked away the entire night, I swear. I ride my bike to the river to get some air. I sit down on the concrete bank and look out at the wilderness just across the water. At the narrow beaches spotted with bushes, fluo-green against the fading sky of late summer.
Here the riverside is wild, untempered. The bars along the water light up, the music gets louder. I go to the bar. As I’m standing in the endless line I can feel someone’s eyes on me. I count to five in my mind and I look up. Oh man, I think, here we go again. And I let myself fall into it one more time because I need anything to get myself out of this emotional hole I dug for myself.
At first, I’m confused. Because the face that is looking back at me is a face I know so well. A face so familiar and unfamiliar. A face I’d seen dozens of times, but not a face I’d ever called a friend. I stared at him as I tried to place him. He smiles back at me amused. The cogs in my mind begin to click. An actor. I know his face from the movies. That series on Netflix about the homicide detective addicted to porn.
I’m not drunk enough to get up the balls to sidle up to him all sassy and shit. But I don’t need to because he comes up to me. He looks me up and down and nods like he’s approving a shipment of the latest iPhone.
“Mind if I sit down?” he says in that Hollywood voice.
“Yes. I mean no. Why not.”
He says he’s here filming an episode where he’s chasing some jewel thief around Eastern Europe. He can’t believe I’ve never heard of his show. He doesn’t waste any time pouring me doubles out of the bottle the waitress brings over. He asks me if I want to dance and I follow him out to the dance floor. He’s a terrible dancer. He’s basically grinding against my pelvis and slobbering on me. Then he’s trying to get into my panties under my dress like we’re not out in the open and all these people aren’t looking at us. At some point, he grabs my hand and leads me towards the car he’s got waiting for him. I’m not good with cars, so I can’t say what kind of car it is, just that it’s shiny and black. The driver drops us off at one of the big hotels where he’s got a suite. He opens the door like he’s a sheik opening the palace gates. As if a hotel room that looks like millions of other hotel rooms around the world is going to make me go woozy with passion.
Pretty soon he gets back to his sloppy kissing. He’s got my dress off and he says he wants to fuck me like Charles Bukowski and I don’t know who he’s talking about.
I’m probably only fucking him because he’s famous, not because I really like him. What’s there to like in an arrogant middle-aged man with a paunch and a lazy eye? And what’s in it for him, fucking a girl young enough to be his daughter.
“Can I take a picture of you?”
I shrug and he takes it as a yes. He asks me to stop covering my breasts and to spread my legs. I feel horribly shy but it’s exciting at the same time to think this famous dude is going to be looking at my pictures later and reminiscing about our time together. But what if he posts them online? I should have said no. Julita tells me I’ve got a real problem saying no. I’m too much of a yes girl. A goddang people pleaser and where’s that been getting me? Not very far, eh? says the reasonable voice in my head. The other voice, the one that just wants me to take it easy and go with the flow, tells me that it’s fine. It’s just two consenting adults having a good time. Isn’t it?
We end up trusting celebrities almost implicitly, as if their fame is guarantee that they’re harmless. We trust them to tell us what’s fashionable and what’s not, how to eat and how to vote. And sometimes we let them fuck us just because they’re famous. And sometimes we let them get away with the worst.
He goes to take a shower and I walk around the room and look at the stuff lying around his room. There’s his passport on the table. I open it up and look at the picture, which looks nothing like him, he must’ve aged a lot in the past few years. I look at the birthdate and do the math. It turns out he’s 52, not 45 like he told me last night. I pick up my stuff and go straight out the door. I feel sick, not the throwing up kind, just the sick dismay of disappointment. Sick at how they think it’s okay to treat you like an empty shell of a person and then got the nerve to lie to you. I think this might be my breaking point. At last, you say.
I’m sobbing into my sleeve as I walk through the lobby and my mascara’s running all over the fucking place, so I sit down for a minute. In a flash, hotel security is coming my way and they’re asking me to leave and if I didn’t feel like a whore before then I definitely do now.
Title: Pretty Dirty
Series: Dirty Bad Things #2
Author: Madison Faye
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: December 11, 2017
My pretty little bad girl. My dirty little secret.
And all mine.
Heard the one about the filthy rich mob lawyer and the cam girl with the broken past?
Yeah, me neither. But youâre about to.
I wasnât looking for temptation, but I sure as sh*t found it. Young, fiery, dirty. The ink and the piercings. Those scars, just like mine. One look at Zoe, and Iâm hooked. Addicted. Obsessed.
So I bought her. Fifty grand for three weeks, and sheâs all mine. She needs saving, but Iâm no prince charming. And helping her means crossing my employers â the dangerous Moretti crime family that runs Las Vegas.
But I canât resist that sweet little body thatâs begging to be claimed, or the soft, sultry way she says âharderâ and âdeeperâ. I canât tell her no when all I want to tell her is to get on her f*cking knees and say yes sir.
So Iâll keep her. Iâll protect her. She thinks sheâs broken. I know sheâs perfect. And Iâll stop at nothing to keep her safe.
I found her by accident. Iâm keeping her by choice.
*Please note that while a connected storyline, each of the Dirty Bad Things books are completely standalone stories centered around one couple, with no cliffhangers or spoilers.
Dirty, filthy, and oh-so-sweet, with an utterly obsessed alpha hero, explosive insta-love, and enough kindle-melting steam to make you sweat. Get ready to get wrong in the right kind of way. HEA with NO CHEATING!
99c for a limited time
Free in Kindle Unlimited
Free in Kindle Unlimited
Releasing January 15, 2018
#1 bestselling contemporary romance author Madison Faye is the dirty alter ego of the very wholesome, very normal suburban housewife behind the stories. While she might be a wife, mom, and PTA organizer on the outside, thereâs nothing but hot, steamy, and raunchy fantasies brewing right beneath the surface!
Tired of keeping them hidden inside or only having them come out in the bedroom, theyâre all here in the form of some wickedly hot stories. Single-minded alpha hero, sinfully taboo relationships, and wildly over-the-top scenarios. If you love it extra dirty, extra hot, and extra naughty, this is the place for you! (Just donât tell the other PTA members you saw her hereâ¦)
Join the mailing list for author updates, special prices, and a **FREE BOOK!** http://eepurl.com/b-b5Pz
Title: Scoundrels & Scotch
Series: Top Shelf #3
Author: Alta Hensley
Genre: Dark Romance Standalone
Cover Design: Jay Aheer
Release Date: January 16, 2018
I’ll stop at nothing to own her.
I’m a collector of dolls.
All kinds of dolls.
So beautiful and sexy, they become my art.
So perfect and flawless, my art galleries are flooded by the wealthy to gaze upon my possessions with envy.
So fragile and delicate, I keep them tucked away for safety.
The dark and torrid tales of Drayton’s Dolls run rampant through the rich and famous, and all but a few are true.
Normally I share my dolls for others to play with or watch on display.
But not my special doll.
No, not her.
Ivy is the most precious doll of all.
She’s mine. All mine.
*Scoundrels & Scotch is a dark billionaire romance. If you don’t like a splash of shock, a dash of taboo, and a heavy dose of sex, then don’t take a sip of this TOP SHELF cocktail.
Alta Hensley is a USA TODAY bestselling author of hot, dark and dirty romance. She is also an Amazon Top 100 bestselling author. Being a multi-published author in the romance genre, Alta is known for her dark, gritty alpha heroes, sometimes sweet love stories, hot eroticism, and engaging tales of the constant struggle between dominance and submission.
Nobody’s Baby But Mine
Rachel and Jamie
Guilty pleasure rippled through Rachel as she slowly relived the moments of yesterday’s lunch date with Brandon. A disturbing, mouth-watering vision of her ex-lover with only a deep chocolate brown bath towel precariously around his hips wafted into her mind. The coarse, dark hairs on his broad chest thick and manly… It was more tantalizing than the creamy wine and mushroom sauce Rachel was stirring at her stove. The simmering chicken morsels would be served on a bed of aromatic rice and vegetables, one of Jamie’s favourite meals. Her nipples became taut against her cotton top. The languid sensations swelled within her, making her lick her parched lips.
Phew, it was hot in the kitchen.
Their delicious Thai lunch had reawakened her fantasies of their younger escapades, even though on the most part Brandon had kept his word, dropping any mention of their history together.
Stop it. Leave those thoughts in the past where they belong.
Conjuring up Jamie’s image to replace the semi-clad Brandon, she hoped her husband’s mood had improved after their four whole days apart. He’d sounded like his usual self on the phone late last night, telling her of his flight details back from Aberdeen, with no reference to their argument. His work was obviously on the forefront of his mind.
Rachel’s pulse skipped erratically at the sound of Jamie’s key in the front door, then it opened and closed.
She nearly dropped the wooden spoon as he came into the kitchen. She recognized the expression on his face, seeing something alien, dangerous in his tired eyes, the set of his tight stubble-darkened jaw.
He strode towards her with purpose like a coiled spring kept in check within him. His determined expression heated her even more than her earlier musings. The bubbling aromas of the fragrant casserole were ignored. Her thudding heart sent her blood rushing to her ears as he ate up the final step between them and reached out to her.
Silently he wrapped his arms around her. His firm, warm mouth followed where he was staring, at her parted lips. He kissed her as if he’d returned from a decade-long war and their every moment apart had been agony. Groaning, he pulled her even closer to himself, as if needing to be this close, this intimate, this fast.
“Rachel…” He said gruffly, “I’m sorry…I missed you.”
She dropped the spoon on the granite counter. His tense bear hug brimmed with promises of unbridled passion. She nuzzled against his familiar warmth, his strength.
Deepening their kiss as if the world was on the verge of collapsing, he sighed as his mouth moved to her cheek, grazing the hollow of her throat and collar bone. He tugged at the hem of her too warm top, moving his lips away from her long enough to pull the cotton fabric over her head.
The static crackled between them, entwining them.
Again, his warm lips roved to the crevice between her breasts, anticipation melting the pit of her stomach like molten caramel. He was raising her skirt, caressing her hips, buttocks, her thighs, all the time kissing her throat, shoulders and exposed parts of her swelling breasts.
Breathing shallowly, her heavy lids fluttering open, she became half conscious of the darkness outside the windows. Panic rose as she realized Jamie intended to make love right here, right now: Imagining him picking her up on to the counter like they’d done years before.
Her breath caught. “Jamie…”
Flushed, he looked at her as if through a fog, his breathing rough.
She wriggled round in his hold so she could turn off the flames under the bubbling saucepans with shaky fingers.
“The bed.” He said as she turned back to him and nodded slightly.
Jamie’s smouldering expression sent shivers akin to fear through her already ready and hot body. She gasped as with one arm around her waist and the other under her knees, he effortlessly picked her up against his rising and falling chest. She felt tiny, feminine and safe.
Arms tightly around his neck, she welcomed his grating stubble of his hard jaw against her left cheek and temple. She inhaled his familiar male scent of car leather and subtle body cologne that still clung to him. His fast heartbeat sounded like an ancient drum as they escalated to their haven.
Rachel was exhilarated to feel his erection against her side as he gently let her feet touch the bedroom floor. A sliver of light from the hall illuminated Jamie’s strong body as he loosened and yanked his tie off. Shucking off his shoes, he unbuttoned and threw off his shirt, unbuckled his belt and shed his remaining clothes off in short, smooth, sharp movements. All the while his glazed eyes concentrated on Rachel’s face and contours. Her hungry eyes enjoyed the play of his muscles and his need for her as she unzipped her skirt and let it puddle by her feet.
Naked and fully aroused, he stopped her fingers from what he obviously wanted to do. He unhooked her bra and separated the straps off her shoulders down her arms. Then Jamie softly tugged at her panties. She loved the slight scraping sensations against her thighs and legs as he freed her of her last piece of clothing. He kneeled into her abdomen and she felt his lips and tongue kiss, suck and lave at the sensitive skin around her navel.
She groaned and was afraid she would fall.
Strong fingers moulded her hips down to her thighs and up towards her waist. Then standing he urgently but gently pulled her into him. His warm chest and arm muscles were hard, stimulating her bare flesh where they connected. His fervour made her want him even more.
His hot breath stimulated the sensitive folds of her ear, as he lowered his mouth and licked and sucked ever so tantalizingly at one of her most erogenous spots on the side of her neck. Goosebumps multiplied as his mouth continued downward to capture one breast, then the other, with his slow yet persistent tongue and fingers.
Her nipples hardened to attention, her breathing becoming shallower and faster. She forked her shaky fingers through his thick hair, manoeuvring his head to catch his mouth with hers, honey-like need swelling within her womb. Wet and ready for him.
Just as her knees weakened he picked her up and lay her on the bed against cool, silk-soft sheets.
Not breaking eye contact he dipped his head again to her breasts, further lavishing his tongue and lips around each areola and the curves of her breasts. Worshipping them. Until she wanted to scream with impatience and agonizing pleasure. Again, he trailed warm kisses towards her quivering tummy, circling her navel until she thought she’d die from the erotic tension escalating within her. And then his lips descended to her pubic bone.
Her breath catching in her throat she knew she was about to combust with unbearable pleasure. Her emotions and over-sensitized, fevered skin of every part of her body was on high alert.
He parted her legs with sure, caressing fingers and lowered his tongue to her inner thighs, and then to her moist centre. She held her breath. He licked her as if she were an exotic fruit he’d hungered for all his life. He watched her staring at him before the pleasure took over everything.
She lay back, melting against the now too hot sheets.
She took in a much needed breath and then let it out. She raised her head to look at Jamie and the intense desire in his smile brought a myriad of feelings, of letting go of her remaining self-control. Jamie was king of her body and soul, and she loved it.
As delicious pleasure within her obliterated any conscious thought she surrendered wholly to the unrivalled ecstasy. Thrumming with waves of unrelenting rapture, at the mercy of her husband’s hands and mouth, her deep moans escalated into heavy low panting cries. Again and again. Until she couldn’t bear to be the only one within the orbit of such bliss.
Drawing her shaky, almost elastic body up she pulled Jamie’s head so he slowly rose above her. Leaving a trail of hot kisses on her jellied belly, her ribcage, right breast and neck, he stared down as he was finally above her. Supported on his elbows he kissed her deeply and again lowered his mouth to one nipple then the other. He groaned apparently in the same volcanic pleasure world he’d taken her to.
“Jamie, I need you inside me. Now. Please.” Her pleas came out desperate and wanton.
As he braced himself over her she couldn’t bear the split-second separation. She kneaded his straining biceps and shoulders as he manoeuvred himself between her legs. She luxuriated in the feel of his hard torso, rising and falling against her. Welcoming him, she wrapped her quivering legs around his waist and lower back and anticipated another full-fledged climax they were about to share together.
His erratic breathing rough, at last he entered her, slow but hard and steady, bringing another gasp of delight from Rachel. She smiled and then laughed with joy from such completeness in being in Jamie’s arms, inhaling his distinct scent now mingled with their lust and need. Her hungry fingers explored his sinewy shoulders and his straining back muscles, tightening her legs around his taut buttocks. She wanted him so deep inside her that she’d forget where her body stopped and his began.
She matched his every urgent thrust. His pleasure-filled eyes looked into hers as if needing to confirm she was in the same heaven he was.
Once again letting herself go, moaning out his name, she climbed the tip of the most exhilarating orgasm she’d ever had. She rose to new found depths, riding wave after joyous wave of bliss. Until she felt tears rolling down her temples and hairline. Her heart palpitated so erratically she was sure she’d die from too much love.
“Yes, Jamie, yes. I love you so much.” She whimpered.
Jamie’s laboured breathing matched hers. They were so attuned to each other’s needs. He looked down at her again this time as if he was seeing her for the first time in years. He groaned and then arched his back as if in blessed release. His sure strokes now forced her head closer towards the headboard. Their sweat-sheened torsos and limbs as well as their interlaced fingers bound them together.
Loving her soul mate’s heavy, pulsating body in and over her, to Rachel breathing right now was overrated.
“I love you….too.” He said almost inaudibly into her ear as their rollercoaster ride eventually calmed to a slow, throbbing, lulling stop.
Minutes passed and rolling beside her Jamie pulled her tighter to himself, into the magical chasm of their love. Their vibrating bodies sated. For now.
They had always had passion between them but not this heightened, frantic desire. Rachel smiled, her eyes shut as she nuzzled herself deeper into her husband’s embrace.
Life outside this room didn’t exist. Rachel realized that neither Brandon or her obsession with wanting to get pregnant had been on her mind since Jamie had entered the house.
© Nobody’s Baby But Mine by Gloria Silk