Title: Heartless Hunk
A Cocky Hero Club Novel
Author: Ann Omasta
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: October 25, 2020
Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward are excited to bring you the Cocky Hero Club: original works from various authors inspired by Keeland and Ward's New York Times bestselling Cocky Bastard series.
She’s a successful young widow living in New York City.
He’s the most hated man in Manhattan.
Their lives are destined to intertwine.
Violet Markle built a marvelous life in the city with her husband. After his sudden death, she is left alone to try to pick up the pieces and move on.
Oliver Adams is a notorious player. After his stint on the hit reality television show, Hot Hunks, he became widely known as the Heartless Hunk.
Vi needs to make a trip to her small hometown in Maine, but she doesn’t want to face the looks of pity on the faces of her family and friends.
Oliver needs a break away from the constant scrutiny and hate-filled gazes he receives in the city.
Vi’s best friend, Soraya, devises a plan that can help both Vi and Oliver, but she doesn’t know the devastating secret that is bubbling just beneath the surface between them.
What happens next will change their lives forever.
Will Violet and Oliver be able to embrace love and help each other heal, or will the truth destroy them? Find out now in Heartless Hunk.
Ann Omasta is a USA Today bestselling author.
Ann’s Top Ten list of likes, dislikes, and oddities:
** I would LOVE to send you a free copy of my island romance novella, Aloha, Baby! Visit annomasta.com for details. **
COCKY HERO CLUB
Consumed by Love (Written in the Stars: Scorpio) by C.M. Albert
Buy Link: http://bit.ly/ScorpioCBL
12 Zodiac Signs. 12 Authors.
12 sexy, deeply romantic Novellas
Celebrate with a new novella each month, as you binge read your way through the horoscopes and decide for yourself:
“Does your horoscope decide your fate in love?”
Genre: Contemporary Romance
#ConsumedbyLove #CMAlbert #WrittenintheStars #NewRelease #ContemporaryRomance #BareNakedWords
There are three constants in my life: my best friend Lindy, my rising career at Sterling & Masters Publishing, and my daily horoscope. Imagine my surprise when on what’s supposed to be the most magical twenty-eighth birthday ever, I get the news that not only didn’t I get the promotion I’d been chasing, but that it’s going to an outsider.
There isn’t enough alcohol in all of Charlotte to make things right again. The only thing my stupid horoscope got right was the handsome stranger I ended up stumbling into—quite literally—as I drowned my sorrows. But not even a sexy, square jaw and piercing eyes the color of the night sky is enough to let Mister Conceited into my bed to ease my bruised ego. That is, until odds against odds, I bump into him again the very next night. This time? He’s a lot more persuasive.
Just when I think things can’t get any worse, the universe laughs in my face when I finally meet my new boss—who just so happens to be the man I let do unthinkable things to my body all weekend. Whoopsie! And Pierce Abrams makes is crystal clear that he’ll stop at nothing to have my body again in every way imaginable—even as he thieves my dreams right from under me.
The only silver lining right now is when an old friend unexpectedly crashes the party after nearly twenty years. Gone is the dorky boy next door I’d once crushed on. Any fantasies I’d conjured up about Noah Chance over the years paled in comparison to the heart-stopping, panty-melting hunk he’d become. But things have a way of getting worse before they get better—and maybe his homecoming isn’t so unscripted after all.
Somewhere—torn between the pages of a forbidden romance with my new boss and a chance at the kind of love fairy tales are made of—is my heart. Is my destiny written in the stars like my horoscope said? Or will I crash and burn, consumed by the very love I never knew I was looking for?
Meet the Author
USA Today Best Selling Author C.M. Albert writes heartwarming romances that are both “sexy and flirty, sweet and dirty”! Her writing infuses a healthy blend of humor, inspiration, and romance. She’s a sucker for a good villain but is a die-hard believer in everlasting love. In her spare time, she and her husband wrangle their two young kids and enjoy spending time outdoors. When not writing or kid wrangling, C.M. Albert is also a Certified Medical Reiki Master and owner of Flower Work Healing, chocolate chip cookie aficionado, kindness ambassador, and seeker of naps. #TonyStarkForever
His eyes cut to the side, lips quirking up. “You don’t exactly seem busy.”
Ugh! Men. That wasn’t the point.
I re-crossed my arms. “Maybe you’re just not very perceptive.”
He grabbed my wrists and wrenched my body against his. “Fuck, that mouth makes me crazy.” He slammed his lips down on mine, pressing inside me with unrestrained savagery.
Lust, raw and demanding, dug its claws into me, addling my brain and melting my resolve. I’d been struck by lightning, a bolt of heady pleasure firing straight between my legs and pooling in my belly. His hands dug into my waist, holding me immobile and recklessly affected. A supple piece of clay to be molded by an erotic artist. He was a god of seduction. How did this man wield such power over me?
“Wait … wait.” I panted helplessly, fighting to think clearly. “I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t even know your name.” I shook my head, eyes on his chest so I didn’t fall victim to his hypnotic stare.
He leaned in, using his tongue to trace the line of my upper lip. “My name is Primo, and I’ve been waiting for this for three days. No more stalling.” Deep, predatory, and unapologetically lustful, his voice purred across my skin.
I was lost. A paper boat drifting on his sinful ocean of promised pleasure. It was only a matter of time before I sank beneath those dark depths. I surrendered any hope of survival. I needed his turbulent waves more than I needed to breathe.
Primo lifted me in his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist, and devoured me in a kiss. He carried me effortlessly to the bedroom, leaving the lights off so the ambient glow of the city was the only illumination.
I worked at the buttons on his shirt as he walked, resting my palms against the hard plains of his chest beneath. His skin was warm and smooth, hair-free and taut over sculpted muscle. The feel of him sent another greedy command whispering darkly through my core.
This man made my body respond as no other man had before him. Just his presence sent a sledgehammer of sensation rocketing through me, rendering me mute and dumb. A mindless creature consumed with only one thing … him.
I wasn’t in the habit of giving men that power over me, but with Primo, there was no choice. The pull between us was greater than logic or rational thought. I didn’t think I could say no to him if I wanted to.
Everything about it was dangerous. Irresponsible. Maddening.
And so very right.
I stand at the back of the enormous church. The stained glass windows mute the over bright sun outside on this unassuming summer Saturday at half past four. The string quartet begins to play Pachelbel’s Canon in D. Two hundred and fifty guests stand. I take a deep breath and walk down the aisle clutching the bouquet of pale pink roses which hide my shaking hands. I’m wearing a stunning white Valentino gown which I’m convinced has seven thousand buttons down the back. It’s a true white, but it’s a soft, elegant white.
You don’t realize the variety of white until you shop for your wedding gown. The color palette of white goes all the way from the harsh tacky bright white of office supply copy paper to off-white, into beige and blush barely-there pinks and lavender. Occasionally there is the most subtle mint green which you are sure must be a trick of the light.
And even though they aren’t all really the same color, lined up on the racks they seem like they all belong together. Like family. I’d considered going a little less traditional with a pale lavender or pink gown, or even that daring pale fairy green, but in the end I went with tradition—anything else feels like half measures with a man who doesn’t know the meaning of that word.
I chose to walk down the aisle by myself. I’ve never liked the idea of giving the bride away or what it represents. Besides, I don’t want to bring my father into this; it feels wrong. He’s here, on my side with the rest of my family and friends who admittedly take up a much smaller portion of the guest count than the groom’s side and business associates. His business associates are seated on my side, so everything looks more even and normal for the pictures.
I am twenty-nine, and to everyone here my story is the story of Disney Princesses—the story every seven-year-old girl fantasizes about until she’s long grown out of such fantasies. But I’m not walking down this aisle to my prince. I’m walking down this aisle to the most ruthless man I know.
I feel as though I’m being kidnapped in the middle of a crowded room, but I can’t scream. It’s like a dream where everyone acts as though everything is fine even though an evil killer clown is sawing my hand off. But still, everyone smiles politely and makes small talk—or in this case, everyone stands and murmurs complimentary things they don’t think I can hear as I drift down the aisle like a fairy tale princess.
They think this is the part of the story where the princess gets the prince, where they get married and live happily ever after. But this is the part where she gets locked in the tower.
When I reach the altar, he takes my hand in his, helping me up the two small steps to stand in front of him. The collective sitting of two hundred and fifty people is the last thing I consciously hear as his intense, searing gaze holds mine hostage. His thumb strokes over the back of my hand, and I don’t even know anymore if the gesture is meant to comfort or control me.
We stand there, staring at each other. Words fall over me like gentle rain. Vows are spoken. Rings are exchanged. The announcement that we are now husband and wife moves through the air like a cool breeze.
His hand snakes behind my neck pulling me possessively toward him as he claims my mouth as his property. Later he will claim everything else.
I’ve never had sex with this man. I’m not an innocent. I’m not a virgin, but right now I feel like one—off balance and unsure of what’s in store for me behind the closed doors of our suite in only a few short hours. I want to run as far and as fast as I can, but I know he would catch me. Right now the reception is the only thing that buffers me from his dark intentions.
We take what feels like a thousand wedding photos, each one more intimate and romantic than the last. His hands and mouth suddenly feel foreign on me as though he’s a stranger and not a man I’ve been seeing for the past year. The reception is being held at a swank nearby 5-star hotel called The Fremont, where we’ll spend the night before taking his jet to our honeymoon in Costa Rica. Our jet. Is it our jet now? Or am I merely an indefinite extra on his stage? I’m not really sure anymore.
We don’t speak during the limo ride to the reception. I don’t know what to say to him. Suddenly, for the first time ever, I have no words. All I can think about is what will happen later when there are no longer hordes of unassuming guests to protect me from his attentions. I feel more and more uncertain about this devil’s bargain I’ve made—like I ever had a choice.
He would have destroyed me. At least this way there is a veneer of love and respectability. At least this way it looks like he is giving me the world instead of taking it all away.
I glance up to find his triumphant gaze locked on mine. It scares me as much as it thrills me, and then his thumb is stroking the back of my hand again. I find the courage to speak, but the words fly out of my mind as soon as they appear as the limo comes to a stop in front of the hotel.
The door is opened for us and my husband guides me out, helping me so that my dress doesn’t get dirty. Husband. That word feels so strange to me. So wrong and somehow scandalous. This can’t be real.
His grip on my hand tightens as he leads me up the stairs and through the hotel lobby back to where our reception is starting. The guests are already seated and being served their dinner. We’re led to our own private table at the front of everything. Some people come by and talk to him. He’s so polite to everyone, so normal, so different from the man I’ve come to know.
As we eat, silverware clinks against glasses, and each time we kiss as expected. Before the first dance, he rises from his chair, takes the microphone that is handed to him, and addresses our crowd of guests. And he is so charming. So smooth. The perfect beautiful lie.
“Livia and I would like to thank you all so much for coming to share this special day with us and supporting us as we start our life together. Don’t get too creeped out, but I filmed the proposal. If she’d said no, I would have burned the evidence.”
Obligatory laughter. He continues.
“But it occurred to me that probably many women wish they had a video of the proposal. And so now she does. With Livia’s permission I’d like to share that video with you now.”
Our guests are very excited about this prospect. No one knew they’d be seeing this. A large projector is rolled out along with a screen and a few minutes later a video begins to play.
He and I are on his boat in the middle of the ocean. I’m lying in the sun in a red bikini and oversized dark sunglasses. He approaches with a wrapped gift. It’s large—about the size of a Labrador puppy.
“Livia, I have something for you.”
My eyes light up on the screen. “A present? Is it a pony?”
He chuckles. “Not a pony.”
Our guests laugh at my antics, their anticipation growing, knowing somehow inside that giant box is a ring.
“Open it,” he says.
I dutifully open it, only to find another gift wrapped box, then another, then another as I go through about five boxes, each time the gift getting smaller and smaller.
“Is it an empty box?”
He chuckles again. “No. There’s something in there.”
I open the final box to find a blue box. Yes, that blue box. A box from Tiffany in just the right size.
He laughs again. “No.”
I open it and start to cry when I see the ring.
He gets down on one knee and says, “Livia Fairchild, will you be my person?”
I’m blubbering and crying and say, “Yes, I will be your person.” We kiss. He puts the ring on me. It’s all so perfect.
Our guests say a collective, “Awwww” as the screen goes black. Then they’re back to clinking their silverware against their glasses, and he leans over and kisses me again.
Before he pulls away, his mouth brushes my ear. “Time’s up. You’re mine tonight.” His words are a growl so different from the version of himself that everyone else in this ballroom sees. It’s jarring the way he can go from this charming facade to something so dark and menacing in an eye blink—the way he can transform only feet from our guests. Yet only I can see the monster. Everyone else sees the man.
I swallow hard at this proclamation and twist the wedding band on my finger. There are three words engraved on the inside of the band. Those three words seal my fate.
The rest of the reception goes by in a blur. The first dance. The dances with the parents. The cake. The bouquet. The garter. All the well wishes that come from guests as they each take turns wishing us a long and happy marriage. We go through a tunnel of sparklers created by our guests, riding off in the limo with the just married sign on the back and the cans dragging along the road behind us, only to circle back into the parking garage so we can go up to our suite for the night.
My hand is trembling as he takes it in his, leading me back inside the hotel and up the elevator to our room. He carries me over the threshold. Inside are candles and champagne and fancy chocolate and rose petals everywhere.
Two men in tuxedos step out of the shadows, looking me up and down with an appreciative once-over.
“It’s about time,” one of them says.
My husband guides me over to the other two men, and then all three of them are touching me.
The words inscribed on the inside of my wedding band are their names:
Book #1 in the Isle of Palms Suspense series
Date Published: Sept. 1, 2020
After Blake Nelson catches her abusive fiancé, Parker, with another woman, she seeks serenity at her late grandmother’s beach cottage. He follows Blake to the island and attempts to kill her, but instead, he dies in an accident while fleeing the police. His malevolent spirit returns to the cottage to finish what he started. The haunting intensifies when Blake reconnects with her first love, Clint. Will Blake discover how to banish Parker before it’s too late?
Blake walked down the long hallway and through two sets of doors to the ladies’ room. While washing her hands, a cool breeze grazed her shoulders. The hair on her arms stood up on end, and her head began pulsating.
About the Author
Stephanie Edwards has been writing professionally since she landed her first newspaper column at the age of 13. Her love for the Lowcountry, the Atlantic Ocean and a good ghost story inspired her to write her first book. She lives in Tennessee with her husband, Ron, and their adorable dog, Shadow.
(Companion Coloring Book, sold separately) Pearls of Wisdom: An Adult Coloring Book
Descent (Steel Brothers Saga #15) by Helen Hardt
Apple Books: https://apple.co/2JFJOSh
Google Play: http://bit.ly/32bNeml
Genre: Contemporary Romance
#Descent #SteelBrothers #HelenHardt #NewRelease #contemporaryromance #barenakedwords
The end to his story has already been written…
Brad Steel made a promise to his wife and children—to create a legacy born from his love for them and his desire to protect them from harm. It was a worthy ambition…
But along the way, something went terribly wrong.
Daphne Steel loves her husband beyond measure and will stand by him no matter what, even when it’s more than she can deal with. She escapes when she must, still always putting Brad and their children first.
Mysteries deepen, secrets are unveiled, and Brad vows to continue to protect his family at all costs. But is the price too high? The lies and misdeeds get easier and easier, until he descends to a place he swore he’d never go.
There’s no turning back, though, and his actions have consequences—for those he did everything to protect.
Craving - book 1 is **FREE**
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1rZdD4M Nook: http://bit.ly/1SEMVJJApple Books: http://apple.co/1KZrHnc Google Play: http://bit.ly/27w3fC6 Kobo: http://bit.ly/1oPBthR
Meet the Author
#1 New York Times, #1 USA Today, and #1 Wall Street Journal Bestselling author Helen Hardt’s passion for the written word began with the books her mother read to her at bedtime. She wrote her first story at age six and hasn’t stopped since. In addition to being an award winning author of contemporary and historical romance and erotica, she’s a mother, a black belt in Taekwondo, a grammar geek, an appreciator of fine red wine, and a lover of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. She writes from her home in Colorado, where she lives with her family. Helen loves to hear from readers.
Buy Links for all Helen's Books: http://www.helenhardt.com/book/
Title: Happily Letter After
Authors: Vi Keeland & Penelope Ward
Genre: Standalone Contemporary Romance
Release Date: October 20, 2020
From New York Times bestselling authors Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward comes a love story about taking chances and the surprises that come with them.
My love story all started with a letter.
Only it wasn’t from the man I’d eventually fall in love with. It was from his daughter. A sweet little girl named Birdie Maxwell who’d written to the magazine that I worked for.
You see, once a year my employer fulfilled a few wishes for readers. Only that column didn’t start up again for months.
So I fulfilled some of her wishes myself. It was harmless…so I thought. Until one day I took things too far.
While anonymously granting yet another of Birdie’s wishes, I got a look at her father. Her devastatingly handsome, single dad father.
I should have stopped playing fairy godmother then. I should have left well enough alone. But I just couldn’t help myself. I had a connection to this girl. One that had me acting irrationally.
Like when I showed up on their doorstep.
ALSO AVAILABLE IN PAPERBACK & AUDIO
4.5 Heart Review by Lorena
This was certainly a breath of fresh air. I was enamored with the characters, especially Birdie. That little girl won my heart from the moment she wrote Santa her first letter with her requests.
Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times, #1 Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author. With millions of books sold, her titles have appeared in over a hundred Bestseller lists and are currently translated in twenty-five languages. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.
Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and #1 Wall Street Journal bestselling author of contemporary romance.
She grew up in Boston with five older brothers and spent most of her twenties as a television news anchor. Penelope resides in Rhode Island with her husband, son, and beautiful daughter with autism.
With over two million books sold, she is a 21-time New York Times bestseller and the author of over twenty novels. Her books have been translated into over a dozen languages and can be found in bookstores around the world.
OTHER BOOKS BY VI & PENELOPE
Free in Kindle Unlimited
ALSO AVAILABLE IN PAPERBACK & AUDIO
Free in Kindle Unlimited
ALSO AVAILABLE IN PAPERBACK & AUDIO
Free in Kindle Unlimited
ALSO AVAILABLE IN PAPERBACK & AUDIO
Series: Winters Brothers #2
Author: Jacob Chance
Genre: Contemporary RomCom
Release Date: October 23, 2020
Cover Design: Sybil Wilson/Popkitty Design
Manfax: A detailed report containing information about a potential boyfriend/girlfriend’s romantic history.
What is it about this bad boy that has women clamoring to date him?
Adam Winters is like an ice-cold drink of water on a scorching day—he goes down like a champ.
Tall, built, and handy, he’s irresistible and he knows it.
After my company runs numerous Manfax reports on him for half the women in the city, I learn he’s a commitment-phobe. And did I mention he’s my best friend’s future brother-in-law?
Forced to spend time together, he lays on the charm, and I do my best to remain unimpressed.
But the more I get to know him, the harder it is to ignore our chemistry.
Even though I know he looks terrible on paper, he looks damn fine from every other angle.
Will this sexy contractor chip away at the walls around my heart, or will he hammer them to pieces?
Today we have the blog tour for Timarie’s new romantic thriller, PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE! Check it out and be sure to order your copy today!
Title: Pledge of Allegiance
Genre: Romantic Suspense
About Pledge of Allegiance:
April 15, 2013, Patriots Day. The city of Boston, and all of the nation, was rocked by a terrorist attack at the historical Boston Marathon finish line. Countless people are affected by this tragedy, including Michael Farino and Ireland “Ilee” Murphy. Neither one of them could have predicted that the act of saving Ilee’s life would lead Michael on a journey of personal discovery, while a decades old war between their rival Boston crime families threatens their happiness and their lives. Michael and Ilee will have to pledge their allegiances to either their families or each other, but it is not that simple. Passion, secrets, betrayal and a very complicated past are working against Michael and Ilee. Nothing is ever as it seems… Nothing!
The finish line is just their beginning….
Order Your Copy Today:
I can’t catch my breath as I grip the steering wheel. I’m hyperventilating and my vision is blurred. What the fuck… How the fuck… Why the fuck… I can’t even formulate a sentence. For the first time in my entire life, I’m having a full-blown panic attack. I open the car door and vomit on the ground of the third floor of the parking garage. This can’t be happening to me. It doesn’t make sense. How could I have not known? I try to take deep breaths and calm myself down, but it’s completely in vain. I sit back trying to fight off another wave of nausea gripping my stomach. I have to stand up. As I get out of the car, I can see across the garage where the cinnamon rolls and coffees I brought landed after I threw them in a fit of rage.
How did this day go so fucking wrong? The helplessness I felt the day of the bombings comes flooding back to me. That reminds me of her and I am gripped with hurt and anger all over again. I woke up so happy and full of excitement. I had an optimistic outlook for the day and for the future. I sang in the shower and dressed with a huge smile on my face. I knew I was going to see her, the girl who I haven’t stopped thinking about pretty much since I met her. I knew after the night we spent together that this was something special; it was something real.
I went to the bakery and got two of our large cinnamon rolls glazed perfectly and two Italian-roast coffees. I could wait to surprise her. I sang along to Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer” during the short drive to the hospital. Nothing could dampen my incredible mood. I had a smile plastered on my face like a goddamn fool. I parked here on the third floor of the garage and walked into the hospital. I had a whole speech prepared to go with my surprise breakfast. I couldn’t wait to feel her soft lips and see those amazing blue eyes.
I walked down the hallway, just as I have every day for the past six days toward room 333. I just rounded the nurses’ station when I saw into her room. I froze to the spot where I was standing. Walking back and forth in her room was Sam fucking Murphy.
All of a sudden, it hit me like a ton of fucking bricks. She isn’t just a girl named Ireland. She’s Ireland Murphy! She’s the daughter of the man I have grown up despising more than anyone on this planet. The fucking joke of a boss from Southie, who happens to my father’s sworn enemy. He’s a sick fuck who is also a cold-blooded murderer. He and his Southie thugs tortured and killed so many of my dad’s soldiers during the ’80s turf war and would send photos to their families just to add insult to injury. This man has tried to kill my father and other family members more than once, and our family have taken their fair share of shots at him.
Timarie was born and raised in East Boston, Massachusetts. To this very day, Timarie still only live a few miles outside of downtown Boston. Since her early teens, Timarie has been a singer/song writer. After university, she continued to work in music, while simultaneously developing her business acumen in the private sector. It wasn’t until shortly after the terrorist attacks at the Boston Marathon finish line, that Timarie’s creative vision for this literary series came into focus.
Timarie continues to work in music, as well as being an active writer. In addition to the books in The Finish Line Series, Timarie has also authored three other books awaiting publication at the time of this printing. It is her hope to show the world that Boston is not just the birthplace of America, but also one of the most diverse, intriguing and culturally rich places in the country. As she always says, “Boston is always a supporting character in all of my books.”
Nothing is more important to Timarie than her family and friends, which includes her beloved Maine Coon, Princess. Timarie is also a fierce advocate for racial, gender and LGBTQ+ equality. She promotes independent thinking and social positivity.
Connect with Timarie:
When the man had arrived a few minutes earlier, Dree had noticed him as soon as he’d touched the bar, a few people away from where she’d been sitting. She was pretty sure half the people in the Buddha Bar had watched him cross the room and order a drink before they broke his spell and went back to their own, now-troubled conversations, but they were still sneaking glances at him.
The tall man had smiled easily while he ordered a drink, his gaze serene while he surveyed the crowd. He was really tall, too. His head stuck up above everyone else’s like they were a black-and-blond ocean and he was swimming with his head held high out of the waves, lest he soak his dark, curling hair that swayed over his forehead and neck. He looked like he was a white guy with a tan, or he might be olive-skinned, like from somewhere near the Mediterranean Sea. Something about him made her feel like a fish drawn to an irresistible lure.
When he twisted, turning toward Dree, his white tee shirt pulled taut over his broad, muscular chest and shoulders. The pristine cotton clung to the rounds of his massive pectorals, the ripples of his abdominal muscles, and his obliques that cut diagonal slices from his ribs to the waistband of his trousers.
Oh, somebody worked out.
Dree had to respect the time in the gym, even though she did not go to the gym nearly as much as he obviously did.
Or ever, really. The hospital where she worked had a gym, and she had been meaning to start going there for three years.
The man’s dark dress pants contrasted oddly with his plain white tee, which looked like it might be an undershirt. If it had clung to his skin any more tightly, she would have thought he had just won a wet-tee-shirt contest. She could see every one of his eight-pack of abdominal muscles, even those top ones nestled under his pecs.
When Dree leaned back to observe the guy’s backside, his legs were long and thick with muscle.
Between his incongruous clothes, tousled black curls, and sleepy blinks, the guy looked like he’d left his suit jacket, shirt, and tie on someone’s bedroom floor and sauntered into the bar for a drink.
That man could throw his clothes on Déchirée Dree’s floor anytime.
She was so drunk. This was not like her, but tonight, anything seemed possible. Everything seemed possible.
She wanted to touch him. The tequila shots she’d sucked down made her body feel languorous and heavy, and she wanted a tall, strong, sexy man to touch her, drive her backward with the warmth of his male body, and move above her and inside her with slow, sinuous thrusts, his faint masculine musk surrounding her and driving her out of her mind.
The deliberate way that man lifted his drink to his mouth—when he touched the highball glass to his full, lower lip before he tilted it, the liquid flowed in, and he swallowed—made Dree think he would be incredible in bed, that he’d take his time, that he’d know what he was doing to her.
The inside of her mouth watered like she wanted to lick him.
And he was still staring back at her, his dark eyes serious and almost wary.
He took the glass away from his mouth like he was stripping off his shirt for her to see his naked flesh.
Dree was leaning so far toward him that she nearly fell off her chair.
A new guy inserted himself into her view, jamming himself into the narrow space between Dree and the petite, judgy woman sitting next to her.
Dree looked up.
The new guy’s red silk shirt was unbuttoned to his waist, exposing a thatch of black chest hair. “Bonsoir.”