Category Archives: Prologue

COVER REVEAL ~ Roamer (Nomad Series, #3) by Janine Infante Bosco

 


ROAMER
Nomad #3
by Janine Infante Bosco
Publication Date: June 13, 2017
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Erotic, MC, Romantic Suspense


Are you ready to ride or die with Deuce & Ally?
Happy Cover Reveal Day to Janine Infante Bosco – Author! 
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¸.•´✶ROAMER¸.•´✶

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¸.•´✶COVER CREDITS¸.•´✶

Cover Designer: JB’s Cover Obsession Design
Model: Jonny James
Photographer: Wander Pedro Aguiar
 
 
 


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¸.•´✶#EXCERPT¸.•´✶

Excerpt Prologue Roamer © Copyright 2017 All Rights Reserved by Janine Infante Bosco.

Prologue

Present Day

Deuce

Death.
Many want to believe they’ll go peacefully in their sleep. After they have lived a long life, conquered their dreams and left their mark on the world.
No one wants to be murdered.
They don’t want to suffer.
They don’t want to scream and beg for a pardon.
A woman doesn’t want to stare at the man who swore he’d love and protect her. She doesn’t want to wonder why he won’t save her when there are four guns aimed between her eyes and one of them is his.
I can still feel her blue eyes pinned to me, silently willing me to do something. To rescue her. To be the man I promised her I’d be. I remember watching the hope fade from those eyes as the seconds passed and the safety on the gun clicked out of place. I can still place the moment when the drugs wore off and clarity filled her blue irises as she realized the end of the line was approaching. 
Death.
It has a sound.
Bullets flew through the air, traveling faster than the speed of sound, piercing the skin I used to kiss, the body I once worshiped. 
Bang! Bang! Bang!
That’s the sound of death.
Death also has a scent.
The gunfire died as blood poured from her body and stained the sheets. Gunpowder lingered in the air, mixing with the metallic scent of her blood creating the scent of death.
Death has a face too.
Worn features from a grueling life and lifeless blue eyes that a single tear falls from is the face of death.
Once a beauty, now a casualty.
The bible portrays death as a new beginning. If you’re a believer, once your blood dries and your body cools you think your soul will be lifted to Heaven. You wait for your Lord and Savior to welcome you into the afterlife where your every sin is repented and all the ugly shit that found its way into your life fades. 
As a man who delivered death to those he called enemies, I never thought much about the scriptures in the bible. I didn’t believe the Lord suffered and died on the cross at Calvary. And I sure as fuck didn’t believe he rose on the Sunday that followed. But in that single moment, staring at the woman I loved, I wanted to be a believer.
I wanted to believe that wasn’t the end. 
Somehow, someway there would be more.
More of her.
More of me.
More of us.
In life, we’re given responsibilities.
In death, we’re given regrets.
A man can only pray to whatever hell he believes in that the two don’t bleed into one another. For a man is a failure when his responsibilities become his regrets.
If he’s smart he doesn’t do responsibility.
He lives free.
He dies free.
The dictionary defines responsibility as having the duty to deal with something or being held accountable for someone. Merriam-Webster fails to mention responsibility comes with the act of commitment. A person can assume responsibility, but he doesn’t truly accept it until he commits his heart and soul to the duty or person.
A roamer cannot commit to anyone or anything, especially not a self-proclaimed cowboy who is destined to ride his chrome horse to his grave. No, a man like me, who is wanted dead or alive by his enemies, isn’t meant to have responsibilities.
He isn’t supposed to commit.
He’s meant to travel the road paved for him by those who stole his soul and forced him into a life of sin. All the while he keeps pissing on the law as he eludes the men gunning for him and dodges bullet after bullet. He earns his patch and wears the title of an outlaw proudly.
He doesn’t walk away from tragedy to find grace.
He never gets the fucking chance to find his ride or die girl, the one who stands by his side when his life is a mess. 
And he sure as hell never gets to commit the perfect crime with her.
He doesn’t get to claim her heart or watch as she steals his.
Unless the outlaw roaming is me.
Then he gets the girl.
He finds the Bonnie to his Clyde and laughs in the face of the devil.
I ease my conscience by telling myself I tried to fight the inevitable, that I warned Jack Parrish I wasn’t the right man for the job. Still, he handed me all the broken parts of a tortured woman and made me the man responsible for piecing her together. 
I could’ve walked away.
I could’ve handed him my patch and kissed Brooklyn goodbye.
Instead, I committed to the task with my heart and soul.
Because even after she ratted me out to Rush and got my ass abducted, I knew we were meant to be in one another’s life. 
Like a lit match to gasoline, Ally and I were made to create fire.
Beautiful fucking fire.
The kind that lights up the whole world.
The kind of fire no one forgets.
The type you never escape.
She was an angel who lost her way to Heaven, dancing in chaos and pain. And me, I was the demon sent from Hell to make it all go away. In my quest to be what she needed, I broke rule after rule and watched a beautiful angel find her wings. 
I forgot about the sound of death.
I forgot its scent.
And I allowed death’s face to be a memory.
I laid Chelsea to rest and carved out a piece of my soul for her to keep. 
Legend says when two souls are meant to be together, the devil will find a way to keep them apart. Being a man who tasted Satan’s tears and drank from his soul, I thought I had outsmarted him and escaped the halls of hell, but no sinner is ever truly free from consequence. 
We all pay one way or another. 
Some pay with their own lives, others pay with the lives of those they love.
Being a man who already lost one love, a man who watched one woman suffer and die before his eyes, the choice became simple. I chose her life over mine.
She says I saved her.
Tells me I showed her how to live again.
Maybe.
But her life is just getting started. She won’t truly live until I’m gone.
Until I’m a memory.
A place in time.
Lifting the bottle of whiskey to my lips, I drain the little that’s left and glance around the motel room. I used to hate this fucking place, bitched to anyone of my brothers who would listen, but these four walls became mine and Ally’s home. It’s here, in this room where she laughed for the first time in twelve years. It’s at that broken-down table she sat and tasted sushi for the first time. It’s through that bathroom door, inside the shower stall where she decided she wanted to create a bucket list. It’s the fucking bed that is now full of weapons where she gave her body willingly. The bed where she learned sex could be something she enjoyed and not something she dreaded. The bed where she laid with me and watched the movie Bonnie and Clyde a hundred times until she knew every word by heart. It’s this fucking room that lives and breathes the memory of the girl I fell in love with.
It’s here.
In the depths of hell with no way out other than death.
Rearing my hand back, I throw the empty bottle and watch as it smashes against one of the walls. 
“Fuck,” I shout in agony as I swipe a hand over my face and fight for clarity.
In between the flashes of her smile and those intoxicating blue eyes, I find it.
I find my truth.
This is the end of the line and death is the wage of sin.
I take a step toward the bed and lift the bulletproof vest from the mattress. Clutching it in my hand, I stare at the guns scattered before me when I hear a knock on the door. Quickly, I slip my arms through the vest, secure it around my chest and reach for the closest gun.
Death has arrived and this time I am the face of it.
Striding toward the door, I pull the safety back on my gun and wrap my finger around the trigger.
“Deuce, open the door,” Ally pleads, causing me to pause mid-stride. “Open the fucking door or I’ll shoot the lock off.”
Pulling it open, I glance over her shoulder at the empty parking lot. She pushes her way inside as I turn around and kick the door shut. Staring at her, I bite the inside of my cheek and lower my gun. She places her hands on her hips and her blue eyes are ablaze as they lock with mine.
Fire.
Beautiful fucking fire.
“Thought I told you we were done,” I grind out.
“Yeah, you said a lot of things, Deuce,” she hisses. “I thought I’d remind you of some of them,” she says as she takes a step closer to me and purses her red lips. “One of the first things you ever told me was that I should stop waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel. Remember that? You told me I should strike the fucking match myself.”
“Ally—”
“Shut up, it’s my turn to talk,” she orders, closing the distance between us, poking her finger into my chest. “You told me to live for me, taught me to find what I want in life and encouraged me to follow my heart. I listened and it led me straight here, back to you.”
“You need to leave.”
“I’m not.”
“Ally, any minute this place is going to become a war zone. They know where I am, they’re coming for me and they won’t leave without a body,” I shout, grabbing both of her wrists as I bend my knees and level her with a look. “That body ain’t going to be yours. Now, for fuck’s sake listen to me, you need to get the fuck out of here.”
“No,” she shrieks, pulling free from my grasp. “I am not going anywhere, Deuce. I won’t leave your side,” she cries, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. “I won’t do it.”
Ride or die isn’t a phrase, it’s her.
It’s Ally.
“I had a dream,” she whispers, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I dreamt the whole world was burning in flames,” she continues as she turns toward the bed. Bending down, I watch her lift an 8 millimeter off the bed and turn back to me. “The flames died, the ash settled. All that was left was you and me standing side by side.”
Silently, I reach for the Velcro securing my vest and peel it back before I shrug it off and charge for her. Holding the gun with one hand, I thread my other one through her hair and cup the back of her head.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp. “So fucking sorry.”
“Don’t—” My lips fall over hers, cutting her off. I kiss her with everything I am and everything we could’ve been. I suck on her lip, slide my tongue inside heaven and take.
Take, take, take.
We make fire.
Beautiful fucking fire.
Then it happens.
The wind changes.
The storm rolls through.
The pipes sound.
The end of the line.
Pulling away from her, I hand her the vest and lean my forehead against hers.
“However this ends, whether I’m dead or alive, I love you, Ally. Put the vest on and take cover behind the bed and do as I taught you. Don’t think, just shoot. Fight to win. Fight to live,” I demand. “Fight for tomorrow.”
The engines grow louder.
I step back as she puts the vest on before I check to make sure it’s secure. Pressing a quick kiss to her lips, I toss her another gun and tip my chin toward the other end of the bed. She does as she’s told, drops to her knees on the side of the bed before she cocks her gun toward the window.
“Let’s ride,” I mutter as I grab the AK-47.
Before I can take cover behind the dresser, the engines die and the ambush begins as the bullets fly.
Spinning around, I pull the trigger repeatedly. Ally and I fire away aimlessly, fighting to see past the thick fog the gunpowder creates.
“I can’t see,” she shrieks.
Stepping to the side, I keep my finger on the trigger and attempt to cross the room.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Fuck!” I scream as a bullet pierces through my shoulder. My vision fades to default as pain sears through me. I force myself to push through, cross my good arm over my bad one and steady myself as I continue to shoot.
Something flies through the window and I watch in horror as flames instantly crawl up the curtains, signaling the harsh reality that the war is over. If we escape the fire, they’ll kill us before we have the chance to draw a breath.
“The bed is on fire,” Ally cries. “Deuce, what do we do?”
Turning around, my eyes land on the center of the bed and the piece of leather burning. I don’t need a closer look to know it’s mine. The charred patch stares back at me, offensively reminding me of where I came from, who I am and why I’m about to die—why Ally’s about to die too.
Before I can offer myself to them and hope they spare her, the fire spreads above us and the ceiling begins to buckle.
“GET DOWN!” 
But I’m too late.
The last thing I hear is Ally scream as the ceiling collapses over us and the amber flames burn bright.
Fire.
A fire that lit up the world.
A fire no one will forget.
A fire we couldn’t escape.
 


 
 


¸.•´✶SYNOPSIS¸.•´✶


Deuce:

The first moment I stared into Ally’s tortured blue eyes, my subconscious knew I’d never escape her. She called to the darkest part of my soul and made it impossible to ignore the strange pull I felt towards her.
Some things are just meant to be.
As long as we were both breathing, my heart would do time with hers. Like the famous outlaw lovers, Bonnie and Clyde, Ally and I committed the perfect crime. I claimed her heart, and she stole mine.
I only meant to save her.
To heal her.
Now, my past threatens to ruin her.
Wanted dead or alive, I’ve got her by my side and together we’ll ride.

Ally:

I thought the world forgot me.
That I had died at fourteen.
But, I never knew life until I knew him.
Rescued and healed, I found love in the face of an outlaw.
Whether he fails or flies, I’ll ride until I die.
I’m his Bonnie and he’s my Clyde.
A love as strong as ours will never die.

***NOTE: Contains explicit sexual situations, violence, offensive language, and mature topics. This book deals with highly sensitive subjects, such as kidnapping and human trafficking. Please be aware of these triggers and keep them in mind while reading. Through all the sensitive subjects, the storm passes and the sky clears….there is a happily ever after waiting on the other side. ***


#RideorDieLove
#BonnieandClyde
#Roamer 


DON’T MISS THE REST OF THE NOMAD SERIES. 

 #JanineInfanteBosco #TheNomadSeries 


***NOTE: DRIFTER & WANDERER can be read as STANDALONE novels.
Contains explicit sexual situations, violence, sensitive subjects, offensive language, and mature topics. Recommended for age 18 years and up. ***


💜💋🎼🔫💜
DRIFTER BOOK #1
Add to your TBR:
Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2g2TDMX

¸.•´✶SYNOPSIS¸.•´✶

“Stryker”
I’m a drifter.
A man born to ride through this world alone.
There used to be a time when I thought I was the rescuing type. I enlisted in the Marines and made it my duty—I was going to save lives.
I was going to be a true American hero.
But God had another plan.
Or maybe Satan did.
For everything I touch finds mortality.
I’m no hero.
I’m nothing.
I’m a veteran biker, a former nomad who survived war only to live in hell.
Now I ride with the Satan’s Knights of Brooklyn and I’m drifting into a different kind of chaos.
The kind that revolves around a pretty girl with intoxicating green eyes.
A girl who has the power to turn me inside out.
A girl who doesn’t need anyone to rescue her because she’s her own savior.
Until she’s not.
But a man plagued by war and the devil inside him can never be her hero.
“Gina Spinelli”
Strong. Independent. Fierce.
They are the three things I strived to be.
But sometimes being successful can be lonely.
Sometimes a girl just wants to be a girl and have someone take care of her.
Maybe even love her.
Sometimes the strong become vulnerable.
Or worse, the victor becomes the victim.
Sometimes we lose control or in my case, it’s stripped from you.
Defeated. Broken. Haunted.
They are the three things I have become.
In my darkest hour, I admit defeat.
In my darkest hour, I need one person.
I need him.
Stryker.

💜💋🎼🔫💜
WANDERER BOOK #2
¸.•´✶SYNOPSIS¸.•´✶
“Cobra”
I’ve lived two lives.
One full of innocence and one full of sin.
I mourned the perfect life I was born into and made it my duty to chase the phantom who stole it
from me.
Revenge, mayhem, and loss are all I know.
I am the lone man—I am the wanderer.
The former nomad—now, Satan’s deadliest soldier.
The two worlds were never supposed to collide. Innocence and sin aren’t made to coexist yet
somehow my past bleeds into the present and I find myself facing my biggest regret…I find myself
face to face with her—the girl who got away.
The girl I let go.
The woman I’ll ruin if I stay.
“Celeste”
Our young love was marred by violence.
Our guilt destroyed us, fate tempted us but, it was he who broke us.
They say time heals all, but all time did was dull the ache of his abandonment.
Now, dressed in leather, covered in ink the boy I mourned is now a man—a man tormented by his
demons.
In another life, we were everything to one another.
In this life, we’re strangers.

***NOTE: Contains explicit sexual situations, violence, sensitive subjects, offensive language, and mature topics. Recommended for age 18 years and up. ***

AVAILABLE #FREE with #KINDLEUNLIMITED!



¸.•´✶ABOUT AUTHOR JANINE INFANTE BOSCO¸.•´✶


Janine Infante Bosco lives in New York City, she has always loved reading and writing. When she was thirteen, she began to write her own stories and her passion for writing took off as the years went on. At eighteen, she even wrote a full screenplay with dreams of one day becoming a member of the Screen Actors Guild.


Janine writes emotionally charged novels with an emphasis on family bonds, strong-willed female characters, and alpha male men who will do anything for the women they love. She loves to interact with fans and fellow avid romance readers like herself.


She is proud of her success as an author and the friendships she’s made in the book community but her greatest accomplishment to date would be her two sons Joseph and Paul.

¸.•´✶CONNECT WITH JANINE¸.•´✶

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Pinterest | Goodreads | Newsletter | Amazon | Bookbub

 


CHAPTER REVEAL ~ Exodus by Kylie Hillman

 


Coming April 11th

 

 

 

 

Xander Barrett had it all.
Until it was stolen by the devil.
His life. His lover. His freedom.

A chance encounter secures his release.
But, it comes at a cost–a debt he must settle before he’s allowed to take his revenge.

Luckily, it’s a price he’s willing to pay.

Stripping a man of everything but his pride isn’t smart. It creates a monster that’s bigger and meaner than the original. Satan has spawned his match, and he’s ready to cause an exodus.

DISCLAIMER: This story contains triggering content and is not suitable for all readers, especially those under eighteen years of age.

This story is the second installment in the Centrifuge Duet, and while it can be read as a standalone, reading Amnesia, Centrifuge Duet #1 first is recommended.

 



Prologue


I always thought everyone had a conscience. That even the worst type of people had one—they were just adept at ignoring it. However, the past eighteen months have forced me to reassess this.
Why? Because I no longer have a nagging voice in my head or the hollow feeling in my gut when I do something wrong. The two things that I associated with my conscience are gone. Poof. Like a puff of smoke, they up and left me sometime between the first time I was arrested and last night, when I watched a man I didn’t know—a man who’d never done a thing to me—bleed out over his desk after I’d slit his throat.
Nowadays, I don’t believe that many of us possess a conscience. There’s too many people willing to throw their own granny under the bus for a dollar for me to hang on to the idealistic view of the human race that I held for the first thirty-two years of my life. In this current incarnation of the world we inhabit, a conscience is no longer an asset.
It’s a liability.



Chapter 1

Ever wanted to see the love of your life getting fucked six ways to Sunday by the asshole she chose over you?
Nah, me neither.
Unfortunately, I don’t get a say in the matter. Not when each afternoon at precisely three o’clock, I’m hauled out of my cell, dragged down the long, white hallway, and handcuffed to the table in one of the private visitation rooms provided by the prison. The flat-screen TV mounted in the corner of the room is turned on and I get a ringside view of my ex-fiancée getting reamed by her new husband.
I say “reamed”, not because I’m being a prick. I say it because that’s exactly what it is. He drives his cock into her like he’s trying to brand her from the inside. Hard. Fast. And, furious. He’s always furious. There’s a deep rage burning in the gaze that Dr. Jaxon Ray always manages to send straight down the barrel of the camera. If I was prone to flights of fancy—which I’m not—I’d say that he does it deliberately in some sick determination to let me know that he knows how I feel watching them.
Every thrust is a clear message, anyway.
I won. You lost.
She’s mine.
Keys rattle in the door of my cell. They herald the start of another free porn show. Bile rises in my throat, the sickening churning in my gut commencing like clockwork at the thought of what’s to come.
Here we go again. Another epic fucking day in this freakshow that is currently my life.
“Barrett.” A cursory glance in the direction of the man who speaks tells me that the guard is not one I’ve met before.
I ignore him and remain lying on my back on the lumpy mattress, one arm behind my head in an attempt at nonchalant posture while the other is hidden by my side with my fingers curled into a fist ready for whatever this change in guard’s may bring. The flaky grey ceiling above me has two distinct dark shadows on it. One is mine, unmoving and unwilling. The second is the guard. I track the latter black blob moving toward me, the handcuffs he holds jingling ominously with each step he takes.
“Move your ass, Barrett.”
“Fuck you.” My response earns me a boot to the side. I hear the second guard enter my cell, his chuckle of enjoyment giving away his identity. It’s the usual prick who escorts me. The one who likes to wait with me and narrate the carnal joining as it unfolds on the screen. My nostrils flare when pain blooms from the connection of the first guards foot with my ribs. I roll into a ball. My mouth shut—lips sealed through sheer willpower. I’ll swallow my tongue before I give them a reaction.
“I’m not kidding.” The threat precedes a follow-up kick that has me rolling away until my knees hit the wall at the far side of the bed. “Your visitor doesn’t like to be kept waiting. I’d move my ass if I was you. This might be your only chance to get out of here.”
The pain in my body leaves immediately. I struggle to sit up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed once I’m facing them. Apprehension pumps through my veins when I meet their smug gazes.
“Visitor?” The raspy quality to my voice is less than optimal. Clearing my throat, I try again, this time with some authority in my tone. “What visitor? I don’t have anyone approved.”
The closest guard—Mr. Chatty Porn Lover—answers first. “No shit, Sherlock. Who said anything about her being approved?”
His companion shrugs, then holds the cuffs out to me. “She might not be approved, but I think you’ll want to see her.”
My heart lurches in my chest, skipping a beat before it settles into a frenetic pace that has me sweating like a fat kid at an all-you-can-eat buffet. There’s one question running around my head at a million miles an hour.
Amber’s here?
A glance in the direction of the guards tells me that I won’t get any further answers out of them. I swallow my growing curiosity and the overwhelming desire to knock out the two pricks who separate me from the woman who owns every functioning cell in my body. I know acting on my urgency will only slow the damn process so I force myself to cooperate.
Standing, I hold out my arms with the wrists parallel. He snaps the handcuffs on and then follows the chain that connects them until he’s squatting at my feet. Sharp, efficient movements have the other set of larger steel cuffs locked around my ankles in seconds. Once I’m secured, the guard yanks on the chain that joins my bound hands and feet in a silent command to follow him. I shuffle along, one guard in front of me and one behind, intently watching me like I’m the convicted murderer I’m purported to be.
When we pass the visitor’s room that I’m usually led into, I almost let my curiosity get the better of me and ask where the hell we’re going. Thankfully, answers are provided before I give them the opportunity to shoot me down with sick glee.
The door that leads into the room next to the one I normally occupy is opened by the guard who’s leading me. I stand as tall as I can, shoulders back and head held high, determined to resemble my old self as much as I can when I come face to face with Amber for the first time in almost two years.
It takes a ridiculous amount of resolve to stop the shaking that threatens to take hold of my body as I lift my head to greet my woman. Our eyes meet. I blink furiously, unable to believe what I’m seeing. Playing it cool is no longer an option. Not with the guard behind me blocking any opportunity for escape. Instead, I let my mouth fall open and verbalise the question that’s beating a thunderous cacophony of confusion around my skull.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Such rudeness is unbecoming from a man in your position.” The woman seated at the table in the middle of the room sniffs, her annoyance with my lack of manners clear. She smooths her skirt over her thighs before settling a satisfied gaze on me. “Considering I’m your new boss and your passport out of this establishment.”




Wife to a Harley riding, boating and fishing, four-wheel driving, quintessential Aussie bloke.

Mum to two crazy, adorable, and creative kids.
Crohn’s Disease sufferer and awareness campaigner.
She’s also an avid tea drinker, a connoisseur of 80’s/90’s rock music, and is known for lacing everything she says with sarcasm and inappropriate innuendo.

Formerly working in finance, she was forced to reevaluate her plans for her life when severe Crohn’s Disease brought her corporate career to a screeching halt. Restarting her childhood hobbies of writing and reading to alleviate the monotony of being sick and housebound, she found her calling and is enjoying life to the max. A typical day is spent in the “real” world where she hangs out with her awesome family and “book” world where she gets to chill with her fictional characters.

Kylie writes the books she wants to read. A lover of strong men who aren’t perfect and aren’t afraid to admit it, straight talking women who embrace their vulnerabilities, and real life gritty stories, she hopes these themes shine through her writing. An avid reader of all genres, Kylie hopes to release books that keep the reader on the edge of their seat- be it with suspense, heart-stopping thrills, or laughter.

Author Links

 



 

CHAPTER REVEAL ~ Coal (Regulators MC #3) by Chelsea Camaron and Jessie Lane

 
 

Title: Coal
Series: Regulators MC #3
Author: Chelsea Camaron and Jessie Lane


Genre: MC Romance
Release Date: February 28, 2017
Cover Model is Jacob Wilson 
Cover Photographer is Furious Fotog
Cover Design by Mina Carter
 
 


Coal (Regulators MC 3)
Chapter Excerpt

 

Written by:

 

Chelsea Camaron and Jessie Lane 

 

Copyright © Chelsea Camaron and Jessie Lane 2017

 


 

This book contains mature content not suitable for those under the age of 18. Content involves strong language and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual situation are over the age of 18. All characters are a work of fiction.

 

This book is not meant to be an exact depiction of a motorcycle club but rather a work of fiction meant to entertain.
Please Note: The following excerpt is subject to change in final edits.

 

~Coal~

 

 
She is the everyday girl next-door.

 

 
He is shadowed by regret laced in broken memories.

 

 
Dark sins of the past have a way of taking hold of your heart and never letting go.

 

 
Paisley Asher is the average woman trying to get by in life. Happy and safe in her bubble of ease, she is not prepared to take on the black pit that is one man’s heart.

 

Trevor ‘Coal’ Blake has a past covered in black. Tainted. He is a dark soul.

 

In the moment, it is easy to lose sight of what is going on. Looking back, however, little cues were misread … or were they? He lives with more questions than answers.

 

 
Chance encounters bring these two together. Is she the angel to pull him from the depths of his personal hell, or is he destined to remain alone and as black as coal?

 

 
Prologue

 

 
The pounding in my head continues to assault my ears. Chad’s party last night was epic, and my head is making sure to remind me of the good time I had.

 

Bang.

 

Bang.

 

Thump.

 

Thump. Bang. Thump. Bang.

 

The rhythm is now unsteady.

 

 
“Trevor wake your ass us right the fuck now!” My dad yells in his Army Ranger voice that has me immediately up and at attention by my bed.

 

 
Shit, why is my dad yelling? This tone is reserved for the major fuck ups.

 

Making my way to the door, I don’t bother to put on clothes and exit in my boxers. Immediately, I’m met with the brick wall that is my dad. We’re about the same height and of similar build. Only my dad has seen war, has scars and quite honestly scares the shit out of me.

 

“Turn around and put some clothes on. Then you get downstairs and face the shit storm you’ve caused. Two minutes, or I drag you down and let them see you in your naked glory, I don’t give a damn.”

 

 
He gives me a slight shove back into my room while my vision blurs and the chalky taste in my mouth only makes me wish I had time to grab a glass of water. His instructions were clear and precise. I won’t press my luck with the Ranger. Quickly tossing on my sweats and a t-shirt I rush downstairs only to stop midway. There is no way I’m going to be any longer than necessary, not with the mood he is in this morning. No sir.

 

 
The sight in front of me is like a punch to my hungover already ready to puke gut.

 

 
My girlfriend, Amber, stands at the bottom of the stair case with tears in her eyes with her parents flanking her on either side. The girl I have spent every spare moment with for the last few months doesn’t look like the lively, beautiful young woman I’m used to seeing. No, she looks a mess, hurt, broken, and could it possibly be she’s ashamed. Her mother’s eyes are swollen from crying and her father …

 

 
His face is murderous. What the hell is going on?

 

I shake my head trying to sort out why they’re here. Why my girlfriend looks like the world has crumbled at her feet. More so, why she’s brought this to my doorstep.

 

 
“Trevor,” my father barks harshly making me jump while I complete my descent and hit the bottom step. “Ass – couch – now.” He commands me before looking to the other family. “Mr. and Mrs. Bridges, Amber, please head into the living room so we can address this matter.”

 

 
Matter? What could be wrong? I haven’t seen Amber in three days. She said she had the flu. We’ve been dating six months. Three weeks ago, she finally gave it up at a party at her best friend, Kiki’s house. Nothing has seemed out of the ordinary. We haven’t had much time together. I know I was drunk, she was drunk, so it wasn’t some romantic thing. In fact, once I got inside her tight pussy, I had to fight not to blow my load with the first thrust. I didn’t last long, but I told her next time would be better. I tried to make it good. I even held her afterward knowing it was her first time. 

 

 
I sit while my mind races.

 

 
“Trevor,” my mom says my name gently while I look up into her dark eyes and see pain. “Amber’s family tell us that something occurred a couple of weeks ago,” she starts only to be interrupted.

 

 
“You fucking piece of shit got my daughter drunk and raped her!” Mr. Bridges roars lunging at me only to be held back by my dad who easily towers a good six inches over the man.

 

My mother rushes to my side, her long black hair hitting me in the arm. She’s Native American and I get my dark hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin from her. My height of six feet seven inches comes from my beast of a father.

 

“We need to discuss this,” my mother says to the Bridges.

 

 
“Nothing to discuss,” Mrs. Bridges replies. “Graduation is in two weeks, we want to see Trevor gone. Amber will have enough of a reminder for the next nine months of what’s happened to her. After the kids graduate, Trevor gets out of town for school or the military, or we go to the police and press charges.”

 

 
“Press charges?” I scream and run my hands through my hair as sharp pains assault my head. “For what?”

 

 
“Rape!” Mr. Bridges yells back.

 

 
Tears hit me. I’m seventeen years old. One night at a party where I swear she said yes leaves me in this kind of mess.

 

 
“I didn’t,” I gasp and try to get out the words, only I make the mistake of looking into Amber’s eyes. The fear, the pain, the sadness, and the desolation are all writing in her features as she shakes her head at me. “I didn’t do that.” I can’t even say the word.

 

My mother grips my arm in support. “Let’s sit down and talk this through.”

 

 
We back up and sit on the couch where my father releases Mr. Bridges and paces behind us. The Bridges’ take their seats on the loveseat and chair. Amber refuses to make eye contact any further with me.

 

 
“Were you at a party two weekends ago with Amber?” Mr. Bridges starts his interrogation.

 

I nod.

 

 
“Were you drinking?”

 

 
I nod.

 

“Do you understand that the legal drinking age in the United States is twenty-one?” He continues to fire questions at me. “Do you understand that an underage girl being intoxicated is not of the right mind to give consent to sexual activities? Do you understand the pain you’ve caused our daughter? Do you understand the ramifications of your actions?”

 

 
“Sir,” I have to swallow the lump in my throat as I fight back emotions. “I understand the legal drinking age. I understand that while yes, I was intoxicated, your daughter was an equal participant. So no, sir, I do not understand the ramifications of my actions.” I fight back the urge to puke.

 

My father’s hand comes to the back of my head. “Since your mother and I failed to make a man out of you. The Army will.” He clips out. “Trevor will be signing enlistment papers today and be gone within thirty days time.”

 

 
Mr. Bridges rises to extend his hand to my father to shake. “We appreciate your attention to the matter and easing the burden for Amber. We’ll be in touch about the future.”

 

 
Amber stands with her mother never once looking at me as she exits, while I can’t help but fear what my future holds and my mind tries to grasp what they’re saying.

 

I didn’t do it. I didn’t take advantage of her.

 

 
**

 

Two years later, I finish selection to become a Green Beret. The badass of the badasses. One of the elite. I remember in the selection process, while trying to mentally survive one obstacle to the next, someone said, “Hell is a fictional place. When you’re done here it’ll seem like a fucking sanctuary.”

 

He was both right and wrong. Finishing selection was the most grueling thing I’ve ever done, but I had already seen hell. 

 

 
Hell was your girlfriend saying you raped her when she turned up pregnant. Hell was getting a letter she lost the baby before summer was over. Hell was knowing her life went on while I couldn’t figure out if my memories of that night were teenage fantasies or reality.

 

 
Hell was living day in and day out haunted by an event you aren’t sure really happened.

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

 
Coal

 

 
“Ropa Vieja,” I order my shredded beef while Ice looks over his menu beside me. Without having to watch him I know what Ice is doing – scanning the restaurant. Taking in the colorfully painted booths and wood stained stables while checking to make sure there is no threat in here to us. To men like us, it’s second nature to make sure your area is free of danger.

 

 
“Arroz con pollo,” he gives the waitress his chicken order.

 

With a nod, she takes off to the back, weaving in and out of the tables, leaving me with one of the few people who I consider family sitting in front of me.

 


 

“It’s been three years, brother.” Ice meets my stare and doesn’t back down. “Madyson is good. She’s working through it.”

 

 
I pause and give it to him honest, “you really think someone works through something like that?”

 

 
“Watching her, I know they do.”

 

 
His statement does nothing to ease my fears.

 

 
“You got a thing for my wife’s sister, Coal?” He asks the question everyone seems to wonder. “Look me in the eye and tell me. If you do, I’m not gonna judge. Not sayin’ I’ll be happy either, but you need to buck up, Coal.”

 

 
“Fuck no, I’m old enough to be her damn dad.” I am angry he can even think this. “You know me better than that.”

 

 
“Then why since the day we got her back, you’ve made it your mission to make sure she moves beyond this. Hell, Coal, you’ve paid for her college like she’s your fucking kid.”

 

I glare at him. “No one is supposed to know that. As far as she goes, Morgan goes, or the damn Pope goes, you pay her way through school. Drop the subject.”

 

 
“Easier said then done, brother.” He raises an eyebrow at me.

 

 
“Got ghosts,” I reply as the waitress drops our plates in front of us. 

 

It’s all I’m going to give him. My personal life, my hell, is not his business. I have the means now to find Amber. I don’t. I made a vow to my father the day I signed my enlistment papers to let the Army make a man out of me. I promised I would let Amber go and live her life free of me. Since the moment I took my oath, I haven’t looked into her. I won’t. The baby is gone. There is nothing for me to talk to her about without bringing up what is one bad fucking memory. 

 

 
When Madyson was found, I promised her I would be by her side to make sure she could move on in life. I made a vow to leave Amber alone, good or bad. I had to keep my word. I wouldn’t let Madyson be alone, though, no I gave her my word to be her support. 

 

 
And I have.

 

 
Ice raises his hands in surrender knowing I’m done talking about Madyson. “For now, I don’t have to kick your ass.”

 

 
“Forever,” I clip back meaning it. I do care about the well being of Madyson, but not in the way he thinks.

 

Three years ago Madyson was kidnapped, drugged and raped by men who were operating a sex slavery ring out of the Miami area. The Regulators had already taken notice of the number of women who were going missing, but it became personal when Ice’s daughter, Brooke’s best friend, Madyson, became one of those missing women.

 

 
Our club went in undercover, starting a business relationship with the man we thought was running the ring. I had to do some despicable shit to prove the Regulators were genuinely interested, such as fuck two of their drugged-up whores, but in the end it had been worth it because we got Madyson back. 

 

Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty to help other people. I have no problem doing that. I also have no problem with the black strokes each offense leaves on my soul after doing them. I am coming to realize there isn’t much of a soul left in me anyways. The way I prove to myself that I actually am some sort of decent human being is by doing things such as putting Madyson through school. Giving one girl the chance that I had inadvertently taken from another so many years ago.

 

It’s one of those things I don’t need to explain to a single soul. It’s between me and whatever higher power I choose to believe in today.

 

 
With our meals in front of us, we eat and spend the rest of our time in companionable silence. Brett ‘Ice’ Grady is one of my long time friends. He’s also not one to press me for words. Even if he did, he wouldn’t get them. My past is my own and it’s not something anyone needs to know.

 

I left Trevor Blake behind the day I enlisted in the United States Army. My black heart is dark as coal they say and earned me my name in the Green Beret’s where I met, Ice, Shooter, and Hammer. I kill without question. I sleep without dreams. And even all these years later, I still wonder if no was yes or somehow yes was no. It eats at me. It’s my penance to pay. I won’t bother her, I won’t dredge up the history for Amber. I let it be the gray area in life and determined that my future would be black and white forever. I no longer leave anything to chance or a misunderstanding.

 

Our phones ping at the same time, the text is from Screech, our tech man, and it’s a simple one-word statement.

 

 
Mission.

 

 
We have orders, time to finish up here and meet everyone at the club to see exactly what Uncle Sam has in store for our undercover group next.

 


 

Regulators Motorcycle Club, a brotherhood of military men with a job that is a special skillset. One that walks a line between right and wrong. We’re always one second away from going too far.

 

 
I have nothing to lose. I’m more than okay with it all. 

 

 
Some of the other men in our club, such as Ice and Hammer, have everything to lose. Ol’ ladies, families. That’s not me. I have nothing to tie me down and not one fucking thing to lose.

 

 
My father died ten years ago from a heart attack. Now my mom lives alone. I help her out when it comes to making sure her bills are paid, but I can’t make myself face her in person. I’m afraid all I’ll see is shame in her eyes from the things in my past.

 

 
As I walk out of the restaurant behind Ice I see a familiar face. She goes by the street name Precious and is one of the whores I use when I need to get off. I don’t do many repeats, but Precious is one of the few that I have gone to more than once because she’s always clean, pretty, and I know she has a kid she’s trying to support on her own.

 

Sauntering over to me she purrs, “Hey baby. Haven’t seen you in a while. Want to go get a room?”

 

 
I shake my head. “Got somewhere to be Precious. You hittin’ on me because you want my dick or because you need to pay a bill?”

 

Her eyes flash in humiliation and I know it’s the latter. Pulling out my wallet I take out a hundred dollar bill and put it in her hand. “Take this and I’ll see you when I can.”

 

I walk away, not wanting to hear her thanks. I’m not the sort of man anyone should thank for anything. Seeing her desperate like that makes me wonder about my mom. It makes me worry if she needs more money from me or not. She’s stubborn and doesn’t like to take the ‘handouts’ I give her. Instead she would rather earn it at the little garden shop she works at. I’ll have to have Screech hack into her bank account and check things out for me.

 

My parents might have believed that I was a disappointment of a son because of what happened. Since the day I left to join the Army I still remember all the lessons my father taught me. Taking care of your family was one of those lessons. Whether my mom likes it or not, I’m going to check in on her soon to make sure she’s got everything she needs. If that means paying her bills for her behind her back, then that’s what I’ll do.

 

Throwing my leg over my bike, I start her up and rev the engine. Ice is already moving so I head out after him. I have no idea what the mission is yet, but I’m ready for it.

 

 
I feel that familiar need to fight, get my hands bloody. Release some of the rage I hold inside of my body twenty-four hours a day. I’m just hoping this mission gives me the chance to make someone the mangled mess I am inside.

 

 

 

Paisley

“Girl, you’re on fire!” I tell the air around me as I dance around my loft apartment getting ready for my day. Self-talk, it’s working wonders. “Dance, Paisley, dance, no one is here to see.” I shake my bootie and swirl around the kitchen making my morning smoothie. The space is open and airy, so I can twirl and shimmy my ass anywhere I please to go from the living room to the kitchen. For now, I stay in the kitchen as I start to drink my smoothie and bounce my hips from side to side.

In the last few years, I’ve changed my routine to start my day with as much pep as I can conjure. When everything is taken from you in a blink, it’s hard to rebalance.

Within thirty minutes, I’m at the gym for yoga. Walking through the front doors, I have my earbuds in and my music up, jamming in my mind. Looking down, I am stopped abruptly when I feel two firm hands grip my shoulders stopping me just inches from his chest.

Scotty.

While the man has muscles on top of muscles he’s an ego-maniac. I’m sure most women do swoon over him, but ‘man grunts’ and flexing don’t do it for me.

“Paisley, baby, gotta be careful.”

“Sorry,” I mutter knowing I need to pay attention.

“Make it up to me, take me to dinner tonight.” He sort of commands in the way Scotty does.

I reach up and pat his pectoral muscle to which he makes it jump in what I assume to be a way to impress me. “Scotty, at least twice a week you tell me to take you to dinner.” I sigh. “It’s getting old, buddy. Women want to be whisked away, swept off their feet, ya know,” I look up into his green eyes, “romance, buddy, romance.”

He cups my chin with his first finger and thumb, “Paisley, this ain’t no fairytale. You can have a night or two with a man like me, gotta take the leap, baby.”

I raise an eyebrow at him, “you really think that works?”

“You have no idea,” he smirks and I’ve had enough. Jerking my head back, I step to the side and around the behemoth.

“Not happening, Scotty, go have another protein shake.” I say without looking back at him.

I make my way front the front entrance of the gym, passing a few isolated exercise rooms to the door that leads into the women’s locker room. Desirae, who is one of my closest friends is already putting her stuff in a metal locker when I walk in.

We met when she came to Miami after the death of her sister. She still visits North Carolina regularly but for the most part her life is in South Beach with her man, Ethan ‘Hammer’ McCoy. They’re cute together in that ‘get a room’ kind of face sucking way.

Des is easy-going and doesn’t judge a soul. It’s why we get along so well.

She takes one look at my face before automatically speaking, “Scotty, again?”

“Yup. Des, is it really bad to think romance is dead?”

She laughs. “Honey, I live with a biker. Depends on your definition of romance.”

I sit on the bench rather than tuck my stuff away. “I want to be knocked on my butt. When cupid nails me with his arrow, I’m gonna be swept away. It’s not something I’ll find on a date, it’s something that’s going to spark and then go BOOM.” I raise my hands dramatically.

“You do realize it doesn’t necessarily work that way, right?”

“You and your logic. Okay so for most people it may not, but for me that’s how it’ll be. The stars will align and something will happen sending me barreling into the man of my dreams life and instantly there will be fireworks. I know it.”

She closes her locker before picking up my phone and towel to toss them in the locker beside hers.

“Fireworks, those can happen for a lot of reasons, Paisley.” She smiles and takes me by the hand to pull me from my perch on the bench. “I love you to death, but you are the craziest woman I know. Maybe a little meat in you would take the edge off?” She jokes to which I just sigh loudly.

“Meat in me, huh? That’s gonna solve all my problems.” We both laugh and make our way to class. Exiting through the other side of the women’s locker room, we walk through the heart of the gym filled with various exercise machines until we reach the yoga classroom in the back.

An hour session later, love, fireworks, romance, and all thoughts of my morning are gone. No, the meditation, the focus, the calm is all back in place. I’m balanced. Rejuvenated.

My shift at the grocery store begins on a register. Beep, beep, slide the cans with a smile, its my job. I count items or sing songs in my head to entertain myself as I ring up my customer.

“Paisley,” the produce manager calls my name getting my attention.

“Yes, sir.”

“Flip your light. Finish that one then you gotta work organic today, Paul called in.”

I nod my head and do as I’m told.

Bin by bin, I go through the vegetables and fruits making sure to discard any that are going bad and refill low stock.

“Can you believe they want over a dollar more for this organic crap?” A lady says to her friend.

“Half of it still has dirt on it,” her friend chimes in. I should probably mind my own business, but they are missing out on some good foods by their assumptions.

“While I can understand one’s aversion to the dirt, please understand that once rinsed in tap water the metal and mineral components in all water speed the process therefore the food rots at a faster rate. Organic does cost some more because the rate in which a store loses the produce is higher since they aren’t packed full of preservatives which settle in your gut and make for a slow moving digestive system. And the dirt you visibly see is simple the covering provided in nature to slow oxidation and keep the air off the fruit or vegetable.” Immediately, I regret speaking. I switched majors in college and finished with a degree in Horticulture. Plant life, studying it, exploring it, well it’s the only thing I could make sense of after facing loss of real people’s lives.

“Thanks for the science lesson,” the woman cuts me off and I draw back at her tone. My intention wasn’t to offend but to explain.

Shrugging my shoulders, I go back to work deciding not to press my luck.

I made a decision five years ago to live a simplified life as much as I can and be conscious of my decisions for both my body and my environment. I lost everything by being careless and I won’t do that again. The regrets kept me up at night for far too long. I try to remain focused and centered in my every thought, word, and action.

I even considered going off the grid living, but soon realized my fear of bugs and my height leave me at a strong disadvantage to making a go at it. Plus, living in South Beach there isn’t really a whole lot of possibilities for that lifestyle.

Instead, I live in a one room loft style apartment, drive a Prius, and eat a mostly natural diet. Like the women beside me, the life isn’t for everyone. Modern day conveniences come at a price to our bodies and environment, but it’s my choice and I can’t push it on everyone.

They push their carts on by without buying anything organic and I go about straightening up.

My shift ends and I find my mood to be lacking. Sadness, an emotion I was once all too familiar with encompasses me.

Depression.

I remind myself I won’t go there again. I’ve cleaned up my life. No demons haunt me anymore. Today was not the best day, but it wasn’t the worst.

I have dealt with the worst. Now I have my crystals, my diet, and my lifestyle to keep my energies refocused to the positive and not into the darkness. I lost a lot, yes, but I haven’t lost it all.

Not everyone can understand me. I don’t take it personally. The choices I make are for me and me alone.

It’s hard to keep it in perspective. Living a clean life allows me to not lose sight of the blessings I have. For me, keeping my diet away from processed foods isn’t about being skinny, it’s about not clogging my heart, my pores, or my mind with junk. Yoga, balances both the mind and the body. It wasn’t until I immersed myself in this lifestyle that I found peace.

I gather my things from the break room and make my way to my car. Distractedly, I pull out into traffic trying to forget my past and stay in my current.

The alarm on my phone goes off reminding me it’s time for a snack. Reaching over to my passage seat cooler, I take out an apple. We eat for sustenance not for hunger. By maintaining a healthy glucose, I don’t feel the hunger pains and keep my body and my mind on a regimented schedule. My mind can’t become distracted and my emotions won’t run in a panic if I continually eat in small portions. Again, it’s about control for me.

The light ahead turns red and I take my foot off the gas and decompress the brake. Lifting the green fruit to my mouth, I bite, feeling the bitter of the granny smith apple hit my taste buds I close my eyes briefly in appreciation.

That’s when the bump happens.

Throwing the apple over my shoulder, I look up to see a huge man on a motorcycle look over his shoulder at me as my bumper has clearly pushed into his rear tire.

Oh heavens, what have I done?

He pushes the kick stand down as I throw the car in park, slap on my hazard lights and open my door.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry.” I say rushing to him. 

Before me stands a stunningly tall bald man whose aura screams sex. He has one of those seriously killer beards that you sort of want to pet because it’s so fabulous. It accentuates his strong face and tan skin. His long legs are covered in jeans that hug his tree trunk thighs, and his feet clad in some serious looking ass kicking boots. A black shirt covers his chest underneath his leather vest with patches all over it and the whole visual strikes me as an intimidating figure. His dark eyes stare right through me as I look at him. ‘Coal’ sits on the left side of his vest, over his heart. ‘Vice President’ lays opposite the name on his right side. The rest of his vest has a bunch of different patches with different cities and sayings. Is this a biker in the same club as Desirae’s man?

He shakes his head. “You okay?”

“Yes, I am, but are you?”

He nods. “I’m fine. Get in your car, pay attention and go home,” he dismisses me. “Don’t just stand there looking stupefied. Get in the car go home, it’s done.”

“I need to make this right,” I stammer as my mind spins and I feel like things are suddenly out of control.

“Nothing wrong so nothing to make right.” He studies me as cars rush past us. “Get in your car, can’t leave till I know you got back in the vehicle.”

“Don’t you need my information. I have insurance.”

“It was a bump.” He doesn’t hide his frustration. “Not a patient man, Pixie, so get in your pedal car and go on.”

Pixie? I want to ask, but I don’t. The man is clearly not wanting to do anything about our incident. So doing the only thing I can think of, I get back in my Prius, turning off the hazards and putting it in gear, I try to shake off my emotions. Anxiety, guilt, frustration, and sadness all toy with my carefully balanced core. I feel myself tipping, falling, and stumbling down into the darkness.

Next, I do what every respectable, twenty-six-year-old woman does when she is faced with a scarier than a horror movie biker, I follow him.
 
 


 

 

 
 



She is the everyday girl next-door.

He is shadowed by regret laced in broken memories.

Dark sins of the past have a way of taking hold of your heart and never letting go.

Paisley Asher is the average woman trying to get by in life. Happy and safe in her bubble of ease, she is not prepared to take on the black pit that is one man’s heart.

Trevor ‘Coal’ Blake has a past covered in black. Tainted. He is a dark soul.

In the moment, it is easy to lose sight of what is going on. Looking back, however, little cues were misread … or were they? He lives with more questions than answers.

Chance encounters bring these two together. Is she the angel to pull him from the depths of his personal hell, or is he destined to remain alone and as black as coal?



 
 

 
USA Today Bestselling author Chelsea Camaron is a small town Carolina girl with a big imagination. She is a wife and mom chasing her dreams. She writes contemporary romance, erotic suspense, and psychological thrillers. She loves to write blue-collar men who have real problems with a fictional twist. From mechanics to bikers to oil riggers to smokejumpers, bar owners, and beyond, she loves a strong hero who works hard and plays harder.









Jessie Lane is a best-selling author of Paranormal and Contemporary Romance, as well as, Upper YA Paranormal Romance/Fantasy.

She lives in Kentucky with her two little Rock Chicks in-the-making and her over protective alpha husband that she’s pretty sure is a latent grizzly bear shifter. She has a passionate love for reading and writing naughty romance, cliff hanging suspense, and out-of-this-world characters that demand your attention, or threaten to slap you around until you do pay attention to them.
 





 

 

 
 

 

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BLOG TOUR ~ Worth the Wait (Kingston Ale House #4) by AJ Pine

WORTH THE WAIT
Kingston Ale House #4
by AJ Pine

Publication Date: January 16, 2017
Genres: Adult, Entangled: Select, Contemporary Romance

BUY:

 

Synopsis:

I like to think of myself as a man of pleasure…I enjoy a good pint of ale, being in the arms of a beautiful woman, and living by my own rules. The only thing I try to avoid? Commitment. And I’ve got a three-year success rate to prove it.

I wasn’t planning on Grace—the beautiful, funny, totally off-limits massage therapist who keeps popping up in my life. She’s on a six-month mission to rid her life of toxins. No alcohol. No red meat. And, yeah, no men. I’m talking full-on man cleanse.

I know I should walk away, but I can’t…and the only way to keep her in my life is to live by her rules. I’ll need to prove to a woman who’s lost all trust in men that I’m worthy of her love. And do it all without so much as a single kiss.

The only problem? If I win, I’ll lose the one thing I swore I’d never give up. My heart.

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Excerpt:

Chicago Tribune: Arts and Entertainment

Saturday, December 17, 8:00 a.m.

City Dweller’s Man Cleanse Ends in Bar Brawl

By Jennifer Bloom

Popular microbrew and neighborhood eatery Kingston Ale House was home not only to owner Jamie Kingston’s wedding rehearsal last night but also to local reality television history.

Grace Bailey—daughter of the dynamic prosecuting duo behind the Law Offices of Bailey, Bailey, and Dawson (Dawson being Bailey’s older sister)—was set to end her six-month cleanse by introducing local viewers to Mr. Right, the man she’d chosen to kiss on live television after six months of no sex, last night at Kingston Ale House. Bailey had been following the tenets of the New York Times best-seller, Man Cleanse: Six Months to a Healthy, Happy You…and the Road to True Love, by Suzanne Summerville. Additionally, she’d partnered with Whitney Gaines at local news affiliate WBN to chronicle her cleanse and search for Mr. Right with the promise of a $25,000 prize if she remained steadfast in her abstinence and had her first kiss on air. The local public followed Bailey’s journey on the Facebook page set up by the station, which was supposed to culminate in a live broadcast last night. Instead the evening ended with one arrest, one trip to the ER, an impromptu press conference, but—you guessed it—no kiss.

 

Did Grace Bailey find her Mr. Right? Did she win that twenty-five grand? Or did her six-month man cleanse leave her empty-handed? The sponsored Facebook page has been deactivated, and despite numerous pleas on social media for the end of the story—including a fan page that has popped up titled Grace’s HEA (Happily Ever After)—WBN has remained tight-lipped about the situation. Additionally, as of this story going live, Grace Bailey has declined to comment as well. How do you think the story ends, Chicago? We’ll be monitoring the HEA page ourselves for any new developments.

Chapter One

Three months earlier…

Jeremy Denning strode right past the hotel desk clerk, which was saying something because she was a freaking knockout, and headed straight to the elevator. He couldn’t muster the energy to jog up the stairs to his second-floor room. His back was sore. His legs were stiff. Shit, even his brain hurt. He’d considered going for a run in the hotel’s workout room, but now he was mentally crossing that item off his list.

“Science is stupid,” he mumbled to himself like a frustrated child, even though he knew science was very, very important to the art of brewing beer. He’d admit that in thought, just in case his boss had somehow wiretapped his brain.

Shit. He was delirious.

The elevator doors opened and welcomed him in.

A host of other hotel patrons, who were nowhere to be seen seconds ago when he pressed the up button, flooded into the small compartment, pinning him against the back wall. The man in front of him was wider than he was tall, and although Jeremy could see over his balding head, he found no feasible exit route around the guy, who stood shoulder-to-shoulder with a fragile-looking elderly woman with salmon-colored hair on one side and a young father wearing a baby in some sort of front backpack on the other. Would you call it a front pack? Why did everyone wear their kids, by the way?

Actually, Jeremy wouldn’t mind if someone was wearing him at this point. And no. Contrary to popular belief, his thoughts did not tend toward euphemism, regardless of today being a day that ended in y.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He just wanted the hotel bed. A nap. Possibly some room service. Then he’d consider the whole wearing situation from the euphemistic perspective.

Seconds later, the elevator came to a stop at the second floor. The only other button lit on the number panel was six, and as if the doors were in the rear of the packed sardine can of a vessel, the sixth-floor residents all turned to see who the asshole was who took the elevator to the second floor.

“That’d be me,” Jeremy said aloud. And because there was no possible way for the folks in front of him to part in order to let him through, they all just stood there and stared at him. Even the baby.

He half expected one of them to spout, “None shall pass,” and then challenge him to a bloody duel where he’d either end up limbless or the victor. But instead the salmon-haired woman gave him the slow head shake before backing out of the elevator. The rest of the occupants followed until finally he was able to walk free.

“I have no quarrel with you,” Jeremy said to the whole lot, all with judging, narrowed eyes. Not one of them even hinted at a smile. It was like they were channeling his mother or sister.

“Black Knight?” he asked, backing down the hall as the last of them filed back into the elevator. “Monty Python? Anyone?”

A woman brushed past him from the opposite direction, a flurry of flailing arms as she speed-walked toward the elevator while simultaneously pulling her golden waves into a ponytail.

“Excuse me. Sorry. Hold the elevator, please. Going up!”

He saw nothing other than the ponytail’s near miss as the elevator doors closed behind her. Yet she left something in her wake, the scent of fresh lime. And although salmon-haired lady couldn’t see him, he mimicked her controlled head shake and laughed quietly to himself. He’d worked in a brew pub so long everything smelled like either food or beer to him.

“I’ll take the damn stairs next time,” he called out to the empty vestibule, then spun back toward the waiting hotel room doors.

“Helloooo, two-eleven, you sexy, sexy beast,” he said when he stood before his door. “We meet at last.”

It only took one swipe of his key card to open the door and approximately four seconds for him to barrel into the room and face-plant onto the bed.

“Fucking finally,” he groaned into a pillow.

Eight hours of lecture on the chemistry of brewing was enough to drive even the biggest beer enthusiast mad. Okay, fine. His boss, Jamie—and soon to be partner, if Jamie had anything to say about it—would have gotten off on a forty-minute PowerPoint detailing the humulene hop compound and isocohumulone, the isomerized hop alpha acid. And yes, Jeremy could remember those ridiculous words because the professor had droned on about them for forty minutes.

Did he mention the forty minutes? And that wasn’t even an eighth of the day.

Jamie had been hinting at wanting to dial back his hours ever since he proposed to his girlfriend, Brynn. With the wedding only three months away, the hints were getting less hint-like and more straightforward.

“Jeremy, have you ever thought about taking some serious brewing classes?” Jamie had asked a couple months ago. Because yeah, he’d dabbled. That was pretty much the story of his life: dabbling. Jamie was the brewmaster and the ale house owner, one of his sister’s oldest friends and therefore a surrogate big brother. Jamie was the grown-up. Hell, he was almost thirty. But Jeremy? Well, twenty-six was still a kid. Still time to dabble. Still waiting to figure it all out.

It was only when he overheard Jamie telling his fiancée that he was considering taking on a partner that Jeremy found himself asking, “What about me?”

The words had flown out of his mouth before he’d considered the ramifications. And before he knew it, Jamie was signing him up for lectures to see if he was up to the task. This was his first one, and Jeremy was feeling anything but.

He rolled over to his back and grabbed the television remote off the nightstand. Tomorrow would be better. First of all, the class was only four hours instead of eight. Secondly, it would be hands-on…in the lab. No more lecture. He just needed to relax and regroup.

Jeremy scrolled through the listing of cable channels, opting for halfway through the five o’clock news over the Disney Channel or Nickelodeon, especially since there was an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond following the news. He fucking loved that show.

It should have registered when the anchorwoman said something about Navy Pier that he’d stumbled on a Chicago affiliate even though he was sprawled like a starfish on a bed in southern Wisconsin. But exhaustion, both physical and mental, had gotten the better of him. So when the woman at the desk said, “And now we’ll head over to Whitney Gaines with the weather,” Jeremy thought he must have started dozing off. Because Whitney Gaines didn’t live in Chicago anymore, not since she crushed him like he never thought was possible. No, she was off in some podunk town in Florida, chasing hurricanes and talking about what the humidity did to gators and shit.

“Thanks, Robin. It sure was unseasonably warm for September today!”

Jeremy sat bolt upright in his bed, those two sentences—ten little words, really—tugging him forward like a tether. There she was, that silky blond hair resting on her shoulders, a little longer than the last time he’d seen her. Then again, that was three years ago, and he’d heard that hair could do that—grow if given time. Florida must have agreed with her. She had that slightly sun-kissed look without actually being tan. Whitney Gaines cared too much about her skin to subject it to ultraviolet rays for long. And frankly, the thigh-high boots she wore with that form-fitting dress agreed with her, too.

“We’ll be closing out the weekend with a cold front, though, and you know what that means for Chicago—temperatures dropping to the low fifties and rain. Let’s take a look at the five-day forecast.”

Jeremy held up the remote in an attempt to silence the voice that all too quickly brought his past to the present. But he froze, thumb on the power button. He didn’t give a shit about the forecast. What he did give quite a few shits about was why she was taking a look at the five-day forecast. In Chicago. Where he lived. Because you don’t just turn down a guy’s proposal, move to Florida because you need to feed my ambition and find a guy who has ambition of his own, and then fucking move back and just show up on a hotel-room television.

He was dialing before he had his ear to the phone.

“Concierge, how can I help you?” a pert, female voice asked.

So many answers popped into mind.

Can you point me toward the bar and tell me the quickest way to giving zero fucks about what I just saw?

Have you ever seen that Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet movie, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind? Yeah, can you do that to me? Make my mind all spotless?

Call my friends and family and tell them I’m moving here. Where am I again? Madison?

But instead he settled on, “Can you connect me to the spa or tell me if they have any appointments open? I know it’s last-minute, but I’ve been sitting in this lecture class all day, and I think I actually jacked up my back by not moving and—”

“Actually, sir, one of our massage therapists just had a cancellation. If you hurry up to the sixth floor, they should be able to get you right in. Shall I charge it to your room?”

Jeremy let out a long breath and shrugged. The room was on Jamie’s business credit card. What would another hundred or so hurt?

“Yes! Charge me. Sixth floor. Got it. On my way.”

He was out the door so fast, he might not have even hung up the phone. Several minutes ago he couldn’t get away from the elevator fast enough. Now he needed to put as much distance as he could between himself and what he’d just seen, and that meant going to a place where there’d be no television, where he could close his eyes and shut it all out until the memories in his head decided to shut the fuck up.

The elevator was empty this time, and he smiled in appreciation at his couple minutes of peace. When the doors opened onto the sixth floor, those couple of minutes were not cut short as he stepped into what was, apparently, peace incarnate.

He walked out onto what looked like a bamboo floor. The walls were paneled with a darker, warmer wood—fat luxurious planks that ran from seam to seam. The air was warm but not hot, slightly fragrant but not intrusive, and soft tunes piped through overhead speakers—that Irish Celtic sort of music Brynn told Jamie he should play in the ale house for Sunday brunch. But Jamie opted for baseball games on the big screens in the summer and football in the winter.

He stood in the midst of this Zen-like setting, closing his eyes as he took it all in. He almost didn’t need the massage. Just standing here would be enough.

“Mr. Denning?”

Almost.

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes blinking open as he strode toward the check-in desk. “How did you know?”

She stood, her blond ponytail swishing across her shoulders as she did.

“Your appointment just came through on the computer with a note from the concierge saying you sounded like you really needed some help relaxing, and that’s, like, what we’re all about here. Relaxing. And then you got off the elevator and had that look—you know, the one that said you did want some help getting all…relaxed. So I knew it was you.” She reached for something behind the desk and held it out toward him. He willingly accepted. “Here is a robe and slippers and a lavender eye mask if you want to rest those pretty blue peepers while you wait.” She gasped and covered her mouth. “I’m sorry. That was a little forward. You just have great eyes. And”—she leaned over the counter in his direction—“I’m totally into gingers.”

Jeremy chuckled. “Sounds like you’re still working on—”

“The whole relaxing thing?” she interrupted. “Yeah. I know.” Her smile turned a bit devilish. “But I can’t help myself when I see something I like.”

Jeremy’s eyes widened. Maybe he could forget about the blonde from his past by spending some quality time with one in the present.

“What time do you get off tonight, Kaylee?” he asked, thankful for her name tag.

She bounced on her toes and grinned. He liked her energy. “Eight,” she said.

He grinned back. “Well, I just happen to be free at eight as well. Maybe I’ll see you in the bar downstairs?”

She nodded. “Maybe you will.”

 

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BLP REVIEW ~ Tracy
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DON’T MISS THE OTHER BOOKS IN THE KINGSTON ALE HOUSE SERIES!

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Synopsis:

She’s holding out for a happy ever after.

Annie
I know where to find my happily ever after—between the pages of a romance novel. It’s why I sell books, why I blog about them, and why I’ll never get disappointed by love.So what if my brother’s best friend from high school is now a bestselling author? Or that he just blew back into town on a Harley, filling out a pair of jeans like he never did before? Or that he’s agreed to do a signing at my bookstore on such short notice? Because despite all his adoring female fans, I kind of hated his book.
 
Wes
The last time I saw Annie Denning, she was a senior in high school, three years older than me and way out of my league.
Now I’m her last-minute date to a wedding, and what started as a night of pure fun has turned into something more real than either of us anticipated.Annie is my muse. When I’m with her, my writer’s block fades away, and the words finally flow.The only problem? She wants the fairy tale—her very own happily ever after—and anyone who’s read my book knows the truth. I just don’t believe they exist.

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Excerpt:

If there was magic in words other than the ones the professionals put to paper, it was in everything he said to her tonight, and everything left unsaid yet spoken with this kiss. She felt a tender ache in her chest as his tongue slipped past her lips, his movement deliciously slow and driving her mad all at the same time. His hips pressed to her belly, and she cursed her broken shoes that would have given her the advantage of extra height. Now she moaned softly against him, rising on her toes in an attempt to slide up his hard length.

“Christ, Annie,” he whispered. Then his hands were on her hips, and he was lifting her so she now sat on the small railing. There was no way she could sit there on her own, but he pushed her knees open and hiked her skirt up to the top of her thighs, holding her there with his weight, his erection firm as she throbbed against him.

“Is this what you want?”

His voice was rough in her ear, and the only thing she could do was squeak out a small yes.

His hand slid up her thigh, his thumb skimming the seam of her panties. Oh God, did I wear good underwear? Annie thought she’d had her mind made up about Wes before he’d shown up tonight, so much so that what she had on under her dress hadn’t crossed her mind. Because no way in hell was the evening going in this direction when she’d convinced herself he was Ethan, the not-a-romance hero.

But now it was, and come heaven or hell, she did not want him to stop. She did, however, need to do a panty check before things went any further. But Wes’s lips were on her neck, hot and full of need, and one of those thumbs had just slipped under the panty seam, and Annie lost her train of thought as he swirled that thumb over her wet, swollen center.

She cried out softly, thankfully quiet enough that she still heard the ding of the elevator reaching its destination.

Wes withdrew his hands so quickly that she nearly toppled off the railing, but he caught her in his arms and even had the forethought to smooth down the skirt of her dress so her—yep—pink, Lydia Bennet YOLO boy briefs would not be on display for all hotel patrons to see. She supposed she’d have some explaining to do later, but for now she had to focus on staying upright.

The doors opened to the fifth floor and a young couple waiting to head downstairs.

 
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Six Month Rule New Cover

BUY:

Amazon:http://amzn.to/2asrIAl
Paperback: http://amzn.to/2af6xFo
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/29TZDTY
Amazon CA: http://amzn.to/29SxC1Y
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iBooks:http://apple.co/2a9sztH

Synopsis:

She created the game, but the rules are about to change.

The second I met Will Evans in his three-piece suit with that hot as hell British accent, I wanted him.

That is…until he insulted my shoes and stole my corner office.

Now I have to work side-by-side with the surly British arsehole who just set my career back six months.

It’s fine. That accent won’t get to me, no matter how sexy it sounds when he asks permission to do things professionals shouldn’t do. On the couch. In the corner office I still wish was mine.

Maybe we can’t keep our hands off each other, but I’m sure as hell not falling for a guy who lives an ocean away. Because in six months, he’s leaving for good.

I don’t do broken hearts, but you know what they say…

There’s a first time for everything.

Each book in the Kingston Ale House series is a standalone, full-length story that can be enjoyed out of order.

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Excerpt:

“May I…?” he asked, his voice hoarse and expectant as he raised a palm toward one of her breasts.

She half smiled while biting her lip, then nodded, and Will brought his hand to her skin. As he made contact, they each drew in a sharp breath.

“God, Holly…”

“Say it again,” she whispered, her hands clasping around his neck.

“God, Holly?” he asked, teasing, because he knew what she meant, but he wanted her to say it one more time.

She shook her head, grinning, and gently tugged his head toward hers. “I want you to ask permission in that sexy accent of yours.”

He brought his lips to hers, not yet a kiss, but close enough to feel her breath on his skin. One hand was still on her breast, and the other had found its way to her back. Will was barely hanging on, but he wanted to do this right, put someone else’s needs first, give her what she wanted.

So he asked, “May I do this?”

He kissed her, featherlight, and she spoke softly against him.

“Yes.”

His lips moved to her jaw and her neck, and all the while he spoke sweetly against her.

“And this? May I kiss you here?”

He felt her swallow as he peppered her skin with tiny kisses, and again he heard her voice, faint yet insistent.

“Yes.”

Her breast was still cupped in his hand, and he lightly pinched the hard peak while asking, “What about this, Holly? May I do this?”

She gasped and rocked her hips against him, and he took that as a yes. God, it had been so long since he’d been with anyone like this, and the way she responded to him was enough to drive him mad. He knew this was dangerous ground, that he wasn’t just attracted to Holly physically. He should be logical here, weigh the pros and cons, but her hands had left his neck and found the button of his jeans, and that was it. Will finally put his overactive brain to rest. It was all instinct from here, because Holly Chandler responded to his impulses, and he to hers.

“May I have the pleasure, Mr. Evans?” She undid the button. “Or can I call you Billy now?”

Will scooped her into his arms and dropped her over the side of the sofa so she now lay on her back. Holly yelped with laughter as he stepped around to meet her, sitting on the edge of a cushion.

“No to Billy,” he said. Then, “You first,” returning the favor, unbuttoning and unzipping her jeans. “If I may.”

 

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BUY:

Amazon: http://amzn.to/29Z6agE
Paperback: http://amzn.to/2af7iOJ
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2asrYz7
Amazon CA: http://amzn.to/29SpV7N
B&N: http://bit.ly/1SSq2xv
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1QeR2VO
iBooks: http://apple.co/1SdYliQ

Synopsis:

How far will one man go for the woman he’s loved since high school?

Jamie Kingston has been Brynn Chandler’s best friend since middle school. Only once was their friendship tested—when Brynn gave Jamie a single kiss. Since then, they’ve had an unspoken agreement never to cross that line again, and she’s ready to let go of the past and move on.

But Jamie has loved Brynn for as long as he can remember, and now that he’s ready to tell her, she has her sights set on someone else. Knowing this is his last chance, he asks Brynn to go on a two-week road trip. But their time alone brings old hurts to the surface, and Brynn has to decide if the one that got away lies at the end of the journey or if he’s been by her side all along.

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Excerpt:

Prologue

Senior Year

(Ten years ago)

A turtleneck would hide it. It didn’t matter that it was Memorial Day weekend and the warmest day of the year so far. Brynn was going to the party. Sure it hurt to swallow, and maybe she was running a fever, but this was it. Her last chance. All year she’d promised herself she would kiss Spencer Matthews before she graduated, and graduation for the class of 2005 was in one week. Time was running out. This was it, their last hurrah before he left for school in California. There was no way she was going to miss it.

“Oh…my God. What’s wrong with your neck? Ew, Brynn. What are those bumps?”

Leave it to her sister, Holly, to notice…and with a flair of drama only Holly was capable of. She stood in Brynn’s bedroom doorway but already looked poised to make a run for it.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Brynn insisted, but even her voice was a dead giveaway. She could barely get that second word out. It sounded more like a gurgle than a word. It didn’t matter. She would power through. Spencer was going to be at the party, and he expected her to be there, too. It would have been enough if he’d just stopped by her locker to say hi, but she played his words over and over again now.

“You’re going to be at Becket’s tomorrow night, right? Promise me I’ll see you there.” It was a simple request, and Brynn was determined to comply.

Jason Becket was her class’s notorious party thrower, and tonight’s festivities were guaranteed to be epic. So, of course, she promised Spencer she was going. He was single for the first time this year, and so was she. Still. The stars had finally aligned, and nothing was going to stop her from turning fantasy into reality. Mind over matter, right? If she didn’t admit she was sick, she wouldn’t be sick.

“And your voice!” Holly continued. “You sound like the worst Kermit the Frog impersonator I’ve ever heard.”

Holly was two years younger and a typical drama student. She performed whether she was on stage or not. Tonight was no exception. And anyway, who was she to say Brynn’s voice was the worst Kermit she’d ever heard? Cut a sick girl some slack. If she was going to sound like a frog, she was going to sound like a good frog.

But she wasn’t sick. So it didn’t matter. She needed to focus, keep her eye on the prize.

“Do you know what’s supposed to happen tonight?” she asked her sister, and Holly recoiled. Did she sound contagious? It was possible her ears were clogged. Hell, everything was clogged, and everything hurt. But this was her night, and she was not contagious because she was a healthy, seventeen-year-old girl who just couldn’t swallow without the threat of tears.

Holly took a step back toward her own room. “Ugh, Brynn. It’s so cliché to like a guy like Spencer Matthews. He’s, like, too perfect. Any girl would get an inferiority complex around someone like that. Better yet, I bet he’s so good his girlfriends don’t even get mad. They get bored. I think the best guy is the one who pisses you off every now and then. Like…like Patrick and Kat in 10 Things I Hate About You!”

Life was not some romantic comedy. Holly was full of shit. Of course Spencer was perfect. That’s why she’d crushed on him the whole year, biding her time until he was single and would maybe, hopefully, look at her the way she looked at him. Today she was sure he did—or would once they found a moment alone tonight. If being a hot, smart, football-playing-marching-band drummer was a crime, Brynn wanted to be his willing accomplice. Seriously, a guy who started pregame on the field with the band—in his formfitting football uniform—and spent the rest of the game as running back…how hot was that?

Brynn attempted a groan, which really freaking hurt, but she wouldn’t give whatever plague she was carrying the satisfaction. If anything, a twenty-four-hour bug had taken up residence in her throat, which meant she was at least a quarter of the way through it at this point. She was probably already on the mend.

“Have you ever felt fireworks?” she asked.

Holly answered her sister with a roll of her eyes and slid down the wall until she sat on the floor in the hallway, still keeping clear of Brynn’s room.

“Okay,” Holly said, waving her on. “I’m comfortable. And this feels like a safe distance from patient zero.”

Brynn wanted to groan, but she thought better of what that would feel like on her throat and instead plopped down on the foot of her bed, sweat beading at her hairline.

“Fireworks,” Brynn said again. “Falling in love—knowing you’re in love because when you kiss the guy who’s the right guy…” She closed her eyes and smiled dreamily, despite how miserable she felt.

Holly took the liberty of finishing her sentence. “Fireworks?”

Brynn nodded, then opened her eyes. “That and ‘I’m a Believer’ will start playing in my head.”

“Love doesn’t come with fireworks and soundtracks filled with songs by the Monkees, not that I’ll ever understand how Mom got you obsessed with a forty-plus-year-old boy band. I think you might be delirious with fever or something.” Holly laughed. “Hey, maybe that explains your taste in music, too!”

Brynn huffed. “Whatever. You’re only fifteen. You’ve never been in love.”

Before Holly could offer a rebuttal, the front door opened, and Brynn let out a tiny whimper of relief because if there was one thing Holly could call her on, it was Brynn never having been in love, either. God, if she could just make it to the party and kiss Spencer, she knew there’d be fireworks…plus Mickey Dolenz and Davy Jones harmonizing in her head, no delirium necessary.

But with the sounds of footsteps bounding up the stairs, Brynn’s dream slipped further away. It was for sure Jamie because he never knocked. He was practically a resident in the Chandler house. Jamie would take one look at her in a turtleneck and yoga pants and put the kibosh on the whole operation.

Time to rally.

Brynn pulled her hair out of the bun sitting atop her head and finger-combed the curls. Then she swiped on some lip gloss and affixed her best smile—until she tried to swallow, and her eye betrayed her with a rogue tear.

Jamie appeared at the top of the stairs and stopped in the doorway, his too-straight, sandy hair slicked back like Leo DiCaprio in the Titanic ballroom scene. Brynn sighed. She loved Titanic. Why couldn’t Rose just move over on that piece of driftwood? There was definitely room for two.

Brynn blinked a couple of times. The fever must be rising, because she could swear Jamie looked super cute tonight, and she did not have thoughts like that about Jamie Kingston.

He ran a hand through the product in his hair, and a shock flopped down over his eyes before he pushed it back again. She did not find this adorable, either. Because that would be the weirdest, looking at her best friend like that. Besides—Spencer. Spencer was the issue at hand.

“Holy shit, B. What happened to you?”

Jamie wasn’t sure whether to take a step into the room or back down the stairs. He always thought Brynn was beautiful, but she looked bad. Like, really bad. Her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks flushed. And her swollen neck? Whoa.

She stared at him through the thick lenses of her glasses perched mildly askew atop her nose. Her wild brown curls were matted to her face, dampened with sweat. But this was just at the hairline. The rest was a tangled sort of nest-like display, which could only mean she’d just taken it down from a bun. Jamie was the only one Brynn let see her immediately post-bun, and he took a certain pride in this—even if he was here to take her to a party where she planned to kiss another guy.

“Sleepy Jean, I say this with love, but you look like shit.”

She flopped back on her bed and groaned. This was how he knew something was really wrong. He didn’t call her Sleepy Jean solely for her inexplicable love for the sixties TV band, the Monkees. Brynn really was a “Daydream Believer.” She saw opportunity in every situation and never took no for a final answer until she’d exhausted all other possibilities.

Jamie took a chance and moved toward the edge of the bed. Screw it. He sat down next to her, resting a hand on her leg.

“What’s with the turtleneck, Dieter?” He raised his brows.

Brynn laughed. At least he thought it was a laugh, but she also could have been trying to blow bubbles in mud. Sprockets was her favorite Saturday Night Live skit, another one of Brynn’s retro faves, this time from the nineties, and although Mike Myers wasn’t on the show anymore, Jamie had a stockpile of his parents’ VHS recordings for them to watch whenever the mood struck. He smiled to himself. Brynn was clearly sick, but he made her laugh, and that was something.

She sat up, tears pooled in her eyes. When she pulled the turtleneck down to her collarbone, Jamie sucked in a breath.

“Duuuuude. You’ve got mono.” The glands in her neck swelled on each side like she was a cartoon character who had swallowed a small branch that got stuck in her throat just below her head.

The tears came fast now, tears that tugged at his heart because he knew what they were for. He knew whom they were for: Spencer Matthews.

“My throat hurts so much, Jamie. I can’t even swallow.”

Okay, so maybe he was a selfish asshole. It’s quite possible the river of tears was for the extreme pain she was in. He knew what it felt like because he had had mono sophomore year, and it sucked.

He brushed a damp curl off her forehead and tried to tuck it behind her ear. But Brynn’s hair had a mind of its own and had no intention of obeying. Kind of like the girl herself.

Jamie bit back a smile.

“Mono?” Brynn croaked.

Holly was still in the hall, standing up now and, at the utterance of the word “mono,” she ran to her own room and slammed the door.

“Let me know when you’re on some antibiotics or something, and then I’ll come out!” she called from the other side.

He chuckled. Typical Holly.

“Where are your parents?” he asked, and Brynn flopped back down on the bed.

“Out,” she whined. “My dad has some work dinner thingy in the city, so they’re staying the night in a hotel.”

He looked at the pout on her lips, letting his mind wander for a few seconds. What would it be like to kiss those lips? What if he was the guy Brynn was willing to risk her health—and others’—to see?

She whimpered, and he drifted back to reality.

“Holly!” Jamie kept his eyes on Brynn while he called for her sister.

“What?”

His eyes grew wide. Holly sounded much closer than she should have, considering she was barricaded next door.

“The vent,” Brynn said, and Jamie couldn’t help but laugh.

“You guys still do that?” he asked, heading toward the wall Brynn’s room shared with Holly’s. He dropped to a squat and directed his request toward the metal slats of the vent in the floor.

“Holly?” he called, using his indoor voice this time.

“James?” she responded, and he had flashbacks to when he and Brynn were in middle school, sitting in her room doing homework while Holly and her friends giggled and squealed next door, some of them professing their love to him—through the vent, of course. Brynn had always laughed and rolled her eyes.

“Don’t they know you’re practically our brother?” she’d once said. Jamie hated that she still saw him like that now.

“Call your parents and ask if I can take Brynn to urgent care,” he told Holly.

“Okay, James.” He could hear her smile.

“And Holly?”

“Yes, James?”

“Stop calling me James.”

He smiled, too. Then he heard Holly speaking to her mom.

“Are you sure it’s mono?” she asked him.

“Pretty sure,” Jamie said. “I had all the same symptoms.”

He glanced back at Brynn, who had turned to her side to watch the back and forth between Jamie and Holly. He wondered if she had any clue what she did to him, if she knew how much he wanted to scoop her up in his arms and hold her until she felt better. And maybe after that, hold her a little more.

He lay down next to her and tilted her glasses up so he could swipe a thumb across her tear-streaked cheek.

“You’re burning up, B.” He let the frames fall softly back against the bridge of her nose.

“I know,” she whispered. “I took my temperature. But I thought if I didn’t admit how bad I felt that I could ignore it.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, her skin like fire against his lips. But he didn’t care, not if he could give her the smallest bit of comfort.

“You know I’d give my left arm to make you feel better, right?”

She pressed her lips together and nodded. “It’s not that big of a sacrifice, considering you’re a righty. If you really cared—” She cut her own joke short to attempt a swallow, and it only made her cry more.

“For you, Sleepy Jean, I’d give them both.”

Fuck. He was a goner. How he made it through this year without blurting out his feelings was a mystery, because when she looked at him like that, like he was the only one who could fix the mess that was her night, the words repeated over and over again in his head: I’m in love with you, B. But she’d made no secret of how she felt about Spencer Matthews since the school year started, which meant Jamie was well practiced in the fine art of holding it all in.

“Mom wants to know how high her fever is.”

Brynn tried to clear her throat, then moaned in pain before she said, “One hundred and two.”

Jamie repeated the response to Holly, then sighed as he looked at his miserable friend.

“Does she want them to come home?” Holly asked, and Brynn shook her head, her eyes still on Jamie.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “Because this is it. Our last high school party. I don’t want you to miss it, too.”

Shit. If she only knew how many other parties he would have skipped if it meant a night alone with her instead… But all he said was, “I’m sure.”

Brynn tilted her head back in the direction of the vent.

“My night and, let’s face it, my goal for the year are out the window,” Brynn said. “Tell them Jamie will take me to the doctor, and then I’ll go to sleep. They don’t need to ruin their night.”

After Mrs. Chandler insisted she speak to Brynn, Holly chucked her phone into the room and ordered Jamie to sanitize it when Brynn was done.

And that was that. Instead of taking Brynn to the final bash of their senior year, he’d take her for a blood test, maybe top off the night with a throat culture. Man did he know how to impress the ladies.

“This was supposed to be my night, Jamie,” she said after getting off the phone. “My night. And now all I want to do is chop off my own head to end the pain.”

He laughed. He couldn’t help it. She was cute when she was a mess.

“First of all,” he said. “I think the whole beheading thing might be a little more painful and a lot less practical than, I don’t know, going to urgent care? And second, this can still be your night. Just a different kind. We’ll see a doctor, get you a nice prescription for some codeine, a pint of Cherry Garcia, and a stack of Dieter tapes—as long as you still have the VCR hooked up.”

She sniffled and sat up. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll get sick?”

He shook his head. “I’d chance it to take care of you. Plus”—he gave her a knowing smile—“you’re not supposed to be able to get mono twice. I’m probably immune to your plague.” To prove it, he kissed her on the forehead, happy to show her she didn’t have to be alone tonight. But even in her state, all the kiss did was prove to him how hard it was to just be her friend.

“Okay, maybe we’ll get you a quick shower, too.” The least he could do was lighten the mood, for both of them.

She sniffled again. “Can we listen to the Monkees in the car?”

He put his arm around her, pulling her head to his shoulder.

“Anything for you, Sleepy Jean.”

And he would do anything for her, even step aside for someone else. He’d made it all the way to junior year not falling for her. It had taken him dating Stephanie Delaney to realize no other girl made him feel the way Brynn did. Though who’s to say it wasn’t always there, this thing between them? Correction—this thing between them only Jamie seemed to feel. And who was he to stand in the way of her dream? He wouldn’t be that guy, letting his feelings interfere with her happiness. They had too much history for that kind of selfishness. Brynn made her choice, and it wasn’t Jamie. But tonight the universe seemed to be on his side, postponing the torture of watching her fall for someone else. Tonight was not for Spencer Matthews. It was for Jamie and Brynn. Even if they were only friends.


ABOUT AJ PINE

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AJ Pine writes stories to break readers’ hearts, but don’t worry—she’ll mend them with a happily ever after. As an English teacher and a librarian, AJ has always surrounded herself with books. All her favorites have one big commonality–romance. Naturally, her books have the same.
When she’s not writing, she’s of course reading. Then there’s online shopping (everything from groceries to shoes) and, of course, a tiny bit of TV where she nourishes her undying love of vampires and superheroes.
And in the midst of all of this, you’ll also find her hanging with her family in the Chicago burbs.


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BLOG TOUR ~ Undeniable Temptation (Reckless Beat #5) by Eden Summers

 

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Book: Undeniable Temptation

Series: Reckless Beat Book #5

Author: Eden Summers

 

Release Date: January 16, 2017

 

 

Haunted by a kiss.

 

With his destructive marriage behind him, Ryan Bennett can no longer deny his insatiable attraction to the one woman in control of his future. He needs her. Craves her. She’s the only glimpse of happiness through the building drama in his life and yet one drunken kiss has pushed her further away.

 

Tormented by what’s at stake.

 

Leah Gorman’s management contract states she can never act on her feelings for any members of the Reckless Beat band but Ryan has always owned her heart. No matter how long he’s held her captive with his deep soul and easy friendship, he’s off limits. End of story. If only her heart would get the memo. She can’t resist him. Even when their attraction gets in the way of her job.

 

The price of love is high. Is it worth the cost?

 

With Leah’s career on the line and Ryan’s reputation in tatters, ignoring their attraction may prove safer than risking everything they hold dear. They have to decide what matters most—their years of friendship, or a chance at love that will destroy them both if they can’t make it work.

 


 

 

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He can seduce with a single glance.

 

Peering down at a sea of fans, rock star, Mitchell Davies can’t deny the innocent beauty of a woman in the front row.
He’ll stop at nothing to get to know her.
When a public altercation leaves her weak and defenseless, he takes the opportunity to be her savior.

 

She’s been sheltered from the world.

 

Alana Shelton wants to spread her wings and experience life away from her restrictive upbringing.
But she isn’t prepared for a gorgeous stranger to sweep her off her feet while at her most vulnerable.

 

Attraction will bring them together, but their pasts will try to tear them apart.

 

He wants to teach her how to trust, but she’ll show him how to love.
In a glamorous world of rock-and-roll, only time will tell if they’re up for the challenge.

 


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Eden Summers is a bestselling author of contemporary romance with a side of sizzle and sarcasm.

 She lives in Australia with a young family who are well aware she’s circling the drain of insanity. Eden can’t resist alpha dominance, dark features and sarcasm in her fictional heroes and loves a strong heroine who knows when to bite her tongue but also serves retribution with a feminine smile on her face. 

 

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Reckless Beat

 

 

Series Reading Order:

Blind Attraction (Mitch)

Passionate Addiction (Blake)

Reckless Weekend (Reckless Beat in Vegas)

Undesired Lust (Mason)

Sultry Groove (Sean)

Reckless Rendezvous (Leah)

Undeniable Temptation (Ryan)


 

PROLOGUE & TRAILER REVEAL ~ Dirty Love by Kimberly Blalock

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Cover Design: EDGE PR and Design

Release Date: October 25, 2016

 

Synopsis

In the light of darkness is an undeniable need to run, disappear, slither away only barely scraping by with hope that maybe just maybe, there’s a way of escape.

My name is Oliva Basari. I escaped one hell only to be trapped inside another, darkness and fear seething through my veins and invading my every thought.

A new city, a new job, a new persona and then…. I fell in lust, I fell in love…hell, I just fell.

From the darkness my alter ego became real, I was Tess, the stirring of someone or something else burning in my gut until she was all there was.
 

I didn’t fear what would happen if remorse knocked on my door nor did I fear the lustful way I stalked them, preyed upon them—the ones that couldn’t have me, the ones who wished they could taste me—I was their darkness until I met one very tall, dark, and forbiddingly handsome Mr. Black. He hated me watching with darkness in his tormented eyes. He scared me, intimidated me, and left me questioning my own sanity.

Until he didn’t.

He was the one thing I let myself submit too, his touch, the way he slid his knuckles across my flesh, igniting a dangerous spark inside of me.


In the end, we’re all captured souls waiting for release or the escape from our own maniacal thoughts.
 
In the end, we are all prisoners of the flesh.

 

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prologue

She slept with blankets slipping from her taut body. I inhaled deeply as my dick ached to be inside of her tight pussy. I didn’t actually know what her pussy felt like… Was it soft, delectable, electric, and glorious? I imagined all of those possibilities and intended on finding out soon, but I wasn’t ready yet. I needed her to come to me. To beg me for it before I could give her everything that I couldn’t stop thinking about.

I slid my hand inside of my nightstand drawer retrieving the lube I’d used on the woman the night before. They were covetous, egocentric, and contemptuous. Nothing that interested me. It rather disinterested me, actually. Olivia was the exact opposite of those women, a contradiction of everything they stood for.

I unbuttoned my jeans and sagged against the chair that had the best view of her bed. Of course, I’d arranged it that way. Her ass was so fucking perfectly round, tight, and juicy. Nothing could possibly be as good as that ass. I was sure of it, and I intended on finding out soon enough.

I pulled my pants down to lay across my thick thighs and untucked my cock from my briefs. The slippery lube slid out of the bottle and melted against my heated hand. Her body shifted slowly as my hand dipped against my flesh. I stilled, waiting to see if she’d wake up this time. She’d been on edge lately, not sleeping well. It’d been pretty fucking obvious she’d been having a difficult time with something. I shrugged off the thought. I’d wanted to fix whatever was wrong, comfort her, fuck her until her problems were mere memories from a past before me or very thin memories that popped like bubbles do in the sunlight. But I’d remain a circumspect observer, for now.

Her body turned just as my hand landed on my hot, thick, pulsing cock. I squeezed, gripping the skin down my shaft… hard. A deep-seated moan reverberated from my throat. It felt so fucking relishable… gratifying. My cock jerked from the sensations it was experiencing. Her tits bounced into position… the position of foreplay among lovers. Nipples hard and round, perky and wanting, waiting for my tongue to flick across the hardened flesh in heated arousal. She adjusted from her stomach to her back, completing her task in search of comfort. Ironic really, that here at this moment she’d seemed extroverted, willing to be free when in reality she was demure. Well, unless she was dancing, but that was only a few hours a night. And I wouldn’t allow myself that opening to taste her flesh. Not yet.

“Ah fuck!” I moaned, the sound feral. I lived alone, and no one could hear me and fuck it if they could, I didn’t care.

My strokes became tight, stroking the entire length of my cock. Cum slipped out of the head as I smothered the silkiness of my arousal across the thin, sensitive flesh. I jacked off to her perfect fucking body.

Her hand crossed her chest, and I imagined she was touching herself there while I licked her pussy, sweeping my tongue against the nub bringing her to ecstasy.

I’d dreamt about that for a long fucking time. One year to be exact. She’d moved into the apartment across from mine with her friend. Her boyfriend moved in just a few months later. Fucking asshole is never there, and he fucks like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Probably doesn’t, to be honest. Little prick has a small ass cock, too. If he came even a tiny bit close to getting her off, I’d rock her fucking world. When I finally take her in every way imaginable, I will do just that.

My strokes became shorter, tighter, faster as I watched her tight body. I imagined her full lips wrapped around my cock sucking hard, harder. Her tongue would flick across the head lapping up my cum into her hot mouth; she’d smile as she squeezed me roughly, begging for more of me to seep into her mouth. She’d suck me the hardest I’d ever been sucked.

“Oh fuck!” Cum shot from the head of my dick. “Fucking shit, Olivia!” I yelled her name as I pulsed against my palm.

Just as I cleaned myself, her jackoff boyfriend arrived stripping his clothes off as he snuck into bed like a predator, opening his mouth ready to take her. My fists slammed into the wall next to the window. It left a large, round hole that I’d deal with later.

My mind raced. I wanted to go over to her apartment and rip him out of her bed. I wanted to kill him. If he didn’t get a fucking clue, I was going to do just that. And soon!

I got plenty of pussy. Shit, where I worked, it was thrown at my cock in groves, but I wanted Olivia Basari. Only Olivia. When I fucked someone, she was the only face I saw. Her sweet lips sucking me off until I came in her sweet fuckable mouth.

Convenient for me, I’d get to see that face and body every day and night. She was a dancer at Epic, the strip club I owned. She worked for me, but it wasn’t enough. I want to own every inch of her. I’ve kept my thoughts to myself. No one knew how I felt, and they sure as fuck didn’t know the malevolent thoughts that infiltrated my mind. Funny really, infiltrate makes it sound as though I didn’t want the thoughts there. As though I’d set up a road block of sorts keeping them away, but in fact, I’d caressed every single one of them. I lured them in with the tips of my fingers promising jewels of satisfaction.

I watched her from the two-way window in my office while she danced for the scum of the city. I pretended that she was dancing exclusively for me. I fucked while I watched her from that window. The girls didn’t have a clue what I was doing when I had them bent over gripping their flesh into my hands. All they wanted was the orgasm they’d get whether I tried to give it or not. Sometimes I did. I loved pussy. It was only Olivia’s I was thinking of when I sucked on their clits, however. Slipping my fingers inside their wet, dripping, pulsating pussies brought cry after cry from their dirty mouths.

I stripped my clothes and showered. I’d see her at work in an hour. I couldn’t watch that fucker touch her any longer.

She was mine.

Copyright © 2016 Kimberly Blalock



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About the Author

Kimberly is an International bestselling author of the Angel Trilogy. She has been writing since she was a young girl growing up in Kansas City, Mo. Reading and writing has always been a big part of her life. She enjoys a world she can get lost in while reading a good book. A wife and mother to four beautiful children she decided she wasn’t busy enough. She spent some time chasing down fugitives as a bounty hunter then laid down her hand cuffs and finished her college degree in nursing.
 
Kimberly loves discovering new music to jam out to and loves anything that’s different. When Kimberly isn’t writing she is playing superhero for her children.

 

Connect with Kimberly

Newsletter Signup Link: http://bit.ly/2cpzCiX

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EXCERPT REVEAL ~ Checkmate: This Is War (Checkmate Duet #1) by Kennedy Fox

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Title: Checkmate: This Is War

Series: Checkmate Duet #1

Author: Kennedy Fox


Genre: Enemies to Lovers Romance

Release Date: October 3

 

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Synopsis



Travis King is the worst kind of asshole.

He taunts me for being a good girl and mocks my high standards.

He’s cruel, crass, and has enough confidence to last two lifetimes.

And I hate him.

It wouldn’t matter so much if he were avoidable.

But considering he’s my older brother’s best friend and roommate, I see him more than I’d ever want to.

His sculpted abs and gorgeous eyes are wasted on such an arrogant man, which makes me hate him even more.

Even though I’ve had a crush on him since I was ten, the feelings weren’t mutual and he’s made that very clear.

He’s always loved getting under my skin and one night against my better judgment, I let him in my bed.

I’ve succumbed to his manwhore ways, but that doesn’t change a thing.

Because the King is about to get played at his own game—and lose.


Checkmate.

 


Beautiful exotic young woman

Young handsome macho man with muscle abdominal and open jacket sitting in armchair.


Excerpt
PROLOGUE

VIOLA

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, lived a young princess who awaited a prince who would give her everything she ever dreamed of… love, passion, loyalty. He’d be the sweetest, kindest, most heartwarming gentleman a girl could ever ask for. And he’d be perfect.

…Excuse me while I vomit.

There is absolutely, positively, no way that a man like that exists on this earth. I used to think he was, but of course, I was proven wrong. I was young and naive, and didn’t know any better.

And he was Travis King.

I remember how clear the sky was as I sat on my rooftop outside of my bedroom window. Summer was fading away and the start of my seventh grade year was right around the corner. The stars were super bright and as I counted them, I heard Travis’ father screaming from the house across from mine. He did that a lot and occasionally, I’d see Travis through the window of his bedroom. He’d put on his headphones to tune out the yelling, as if it was something to which he was accustomed. But that night he didn’t go to his bedroom. He ran out of his front door, slamming it behind him, and began pacing his front yard. I swallowed, watching him intently as his hands balled into fists at his sides.

When the Kings moved across the street from us, Travis and my older brother, Drew, instantly became best friends. They were both going into their first year of high school and I was sad I wouldn’t be at the same school as them anymore. Well, mostly about Travis. Drew had made it very clear he didn’t like his little sister tagging along, but Travis never made me feel like I was a nuisance.

As I watched him kick the dirt on the sidewalk, he looked up at me. His lips were turned down and I could see the anger in his eyes. My breath stilled as he watched me watch him, and I was certain he’d tell my brother I’d been spying on him.

Instead, he walked across the street, climbed up the trellis and sat down next to me. He stayed silent for a long while, but then he finally turned and spoke.

“I hate my dad sometimes.”

“Why does he get so mad?” I asked.

He looked away and rested his arms over his bent knees. “He drinks. Sometimes too much.”

“Does he hurt you?” He didn’t look at me. “Or your mother?”

He winced. “No. Just yells.”

We sat in silence, both lying on our backs as we looked up at the sky above us, the stars so bright and big.

“You can sit up here anytime, you know? My parents won’t mind.”

“Drew would,” he said matter-of-factly. “He’d call me a pansy.” He chuckled.

“Drew calls everyone that.”

He laughed again.

I turned my head and looked at him. “I don’t think you’re a pansy.”

Travis tilted his head and looked into my eyes and everything went serious. I watched his throat move, swallowing hard. He licked his lips and moved in close. Feeling his breath against my skin made me so nervous, I instinctively turned my head.

“Are you excited about going into high school?” I spit out, trying to change the subject, looking back up at the stars. I could’ve sworn Travis was about to kiss me. It would’ve been my first kiss.

Moments passed and he finally responded. “Yeah, I guess. It’ll be nice getting back into basketball season and staying late for practices and games.”

I knew what he was implying without saying the words. Less time at home.

“Why do you think she puts up with it?” Curiosity got the best of me, and I could no longer keep it in. “Can’t she leave him?” I asked.

He shrugged. I supposed it wasn’t that simple for adults, but to me it just sounded like common sense. Why would anyone want to be with someone that treated them like crap?

That wasn’t the last time Travis snuck up the rooftop and sat with me under the stars. We shared details with each other that we hadn’t shared with anyone else before. It was our secret little spot where we could talk or just sit and stare up at the sky.

It was easy.

He wasn’t my brother’s best friend.

I wasn’t his best friend’s little sister.

And the lines between us weren’t blurred.

I was only twelve years old, so I truly believed prince charming existed. As I grew older, I came to realize he never really did. Because if he did, he most certainly wouldn’t be available. And he most definitely wouldn’t be interested in a girl like me. I’m not saying that because I want anyone to tell me otherwise, but if such a man existed, he’d have no chance with me anyway. Because for some only-God-knows-why reason, my heart only beats for one man. My pulse only increases when he walks into the room. My cheeks flush and my body hums when he looks at me. I feel the blood in my veins as my skin heats from his very existence. He’s the epitome of perfection.

…Too bad a decade later, he’s a complete asshole.

Travis King.

He’s no knight in shining armor; more like a royal jackass. He may look like a prince on the outside, but on the inside he’s a cocky, arrogant womanizer that I want to shove over a cliff.

All right, that might sound dramatic and all, considering I just confessed my feelings about him, but those are feelings of hate…not love.

From being head over heels for him as a young girl to loathing him as a woman, Travis King needs to remember the golden rule—never admit defeat.

It was game on.

 


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About the Author

Kennedy Fox


Kennedy Fox
is a duo of bestselling authors who share a love of
You’ve Got Mail and The Holiday.

When they aren’t bonding over romantic comedies, they like to brainstorm new book ideas. One day, they decided to collaborate together under a pseudonym and have some fun creating new characters that’ll make your lady bits tingle and your heart melt.

If you enjoy romance stories with sexy, tattooed alpha males and smart, independent women, then a Kennedy Fox book is for you! Both authors are from Manhattan living the glamorous bachelorette life, or perhaps they’re just confusing themselves with an episode of Sex and the City (Total #Girlcrush SJP).

Either way, they’re looking forward to bringing you many more stories to fall in love with!

 

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EXCERPT REVEAL ~ The Retrieval Duet by Aly Martinez

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Excerpt:

Prologue

Roman

The house was dark when I quietly twisted the lock so as not to wake her. God knows she needed the sleep. I didn’t know how she still functioned when her days were filled with tears and her nights weren’t much better. It was precisely the reason I stayed gone as much as I did. Or so I’d thought as I’d thrown myself into work. Money couldn’t solve my problems, but it might have been able to solve hers.

My body ached, and my lids barely stayed open despite the pot of coffee I’d downed not even an hour earlier. It was a miracle I had been able to drive at all. I should have just crashed at the office, but after yet another failed prototype, I’d needed an escape.

Instead, I’d gone home—the very place I’d spent so many nights trying to avoid.

Only one foot was over the threshold when I suddenly froze.

“Elisabeth?” I called, flipping the overhead light on.

My shoulders fell as I found her sitting on the sofa, her long, blond hair curtaining her face and suitcases surrounding her feet.

“What’s going on?” I asked as my gut wrenched, already knowing the answer.

I had no right to be surprised. I’d all but forced her hand. If I was honest with myself, it was what I’d wanted—for her. However, none of that made the pain of reality any less agonizing.

My heart raced. “Elisabeth?” I prompted again, needing to hear her say the words almost as much as I dreaded it.

“I can’t stay here anymore,” she whispered at the floor.

Acid rose in my throat.

Out of habit, I dropped my keys into the basket she’d bought when we’d first moved in. “If you fail the key basket, the key basket will fail you,” she’d announced with an infectious smile the day we had become homeowners to the two-bedroom-two-bath starter home we could barely afford. It was just seconds before I’d swept her off her feet and made love to her on the hardwood floor of our foyer in the middle of the day.

But such was life as a newlywed.

Inside that house with her was the only place I’d ever wanted to be.

Until the fantasy of forever had worn off and the walls of real life had closed in on us. Once my refuge, our home became an inescapable prison with bars built of my failures.

I couldn’t breathe inside that house any more than I could look her in the eye.

We’d only been married for five years. But, seeing her now, I felt like it’d been a lifetime since I’d peered into her eyes, promising to love her in sickness and in health.

But it wasn’t like she was the same woman, either.

Over the last six months, she’d wasted away both physically and mentally in front of my eyes.

And I’d done absolutely nothing to help her.

But how do you throw a lifeline when you yourself don’t even have a rope to hold on to? I might have been able to keep her afloat for another day, but I’d never have been able to pull her back to me.

We merely existed on the same plane. Living under the same roof, eating meals at the same table, sleeping in the same bed. But we were far from sharing our lives together.

“Are you coming back?” I asked, not willing to accept the truth that lingered in the air around us.

Her deep-green eyes lifted to mine—the red rims and the dark circles doing nothing to hinder her beauty. Swallowing hard, she shifted her gaze to the mantel on the other side of the room. I knew what she was looking at, but I refused to follow her into the past.

That might have been our biggest problem of all.

She was still living there.

And I refused to go back.

“Elisabeth?” My voice softened, but the question remained the same. “Are you coming back?”

“No,” she replied, swiping the tears from her cheeks.

A thousand arrows fell from the sky, searing into my soul. My breath hitched, and my lungs burned. This was it—the end of my life as I knew it. But, in that moment, with her shoulders hunched forward in defeat, I realized that it was the end of hers, too.

Why did that realization hurt more than the lifetime of loneliness that was awaiting me when the sun rose?

I lifted a hand and rubbed my chest, hoping to ease the mounting pressure threatening to overtake me. “Don’t do this,” I mumbled through the pain.

I wasn’t sure who I’d meant that for though.

Was I chastising myself for having asked her to prolong the inevitable just because I wasn’t ready to lose her yet? Or was I asking her to stay in this sham of a marriage for even one day longer?

Probably both.

“You’ll be okay,” she assured me, pushing to her feet and gathering her bag, complete with our Yorkie, Loretta, tucked in her mesh dog carrier.

My pulse quickened, nature’s fight-or-flight finally kicking in. But I’d been in flight mode for entirely too long. There was no fight left.

I stepped into her path. “Elisabeth, please.” I wasn’t sure why I kept saying her name. I secretly hoped that it would snap her out of it, bringing her back to the reality of it all. But it was the reality that was killing us.

“I’ll take off work tomorrow,” I pleaded. “We can talk. Figure things out.”

It was selfish. Completely and utterly selfish. But that was nothing new for me.

Her chin quivered as a steady stream of tears fell from her eyes. “Promise me something, Roman.”

I would have promised her the entire fucking universe if it had made her stay one night longer. But who was I kidding?

We were over.

We both knew it.

“Anything,” I whispered, reaching down to take her hand, desperate for the connection I didn’t deserve.

“Remember to live.” Her voice caught, and a silent sob tore through her.

Cupping the back of her head, I pulled her into my chest.

“I can fix this,” I swore, but it was yet another lie. “We just need time.”

Her shoulders shook as she cried in my arms. “We…we promised. We told him we’d live for him.”

I closed my lids and clung to her tighter.

We were supposed to be fighting and screaming. That was what soon-to-be-divorced couples did. But that wasn’t us. We didn’t hate each other. Elisabeth was my soul mate on every level.

And she was paying the price for that.

Minutes later, the tears stopped and she backed out of my arms. I fought the urge to regain my hold, forcing her to stay. But her sad resolve as she hurried to the mantel and then to the door made it clear it’d be a wasted effort.

Never in a million years had I thought I’d be standing there, watching her walk away.

But, then again, I’d never expected her to have the urn of our only child cradled in her arm, either. A reminder of just how much I hadn’t been able to give her. How much I’d never be able to give her.

My past, present, and future were walking out of my life, and I stood immobile as every fiber in my being screamed for me to drop to my knees and beg her to stay.

To take her in my arms and tell her that we’d figure it out.

To reclaim my life once and for all.

But how would that have helped her?

Staying wouldn’t magically bring back her smile. Nor would it make her look at me with those bright-green eyes that made me feel as though I could conquer the world.

It wouldn’t give me back the crazy woman who argued with her whole heart and loved with her entire soul. No. Those days were gone.

I’d lost that woman somewhere in the bitterness between grief and blame.

We’d been happy once.

But we’d gotten greedy and tried to start a family.

That was her future. Not mine. Regardless how desperately I longed to give it to her…and then selfishly take it for myself.

Sex. That’s how babies are made. Children as young as elementary school are taught the simple biological facts of reproduction.

But what they never tell you is that, for one in six couples, having a baby goes a little differently.

For Elisabeth and me, it looked more like this:

******

Thirty-six months of crushing disappointment.

Three miscarriages.

Hundreds of tests our insurance company refused to cover because the inability to reproduce was not considered a health condition.

Countless tears.

Helplessness.

Failure.

Failure.

Failure.

Her broken heart.

My empty chest.

Thirty-seven thousand dollars we didn’t have.

In vitro fertilization.

A sperm donor.

A handful of hope.

A positive pregnancy test.

Five months of utter bliss.

Earth-shattering devastation.

A funeral for a child I would never get to see grow up.

A job that became my only reprieve from reality.

And now…losing the only woman I would ever love.

I’d always been amazed by how much punishment a heart could take. I was broken, battered, and destroyed. And yet, much to my dismay, as I watched the front door close behind her, my heart kept beating.

 

retrieval-aly


ONE STORY. TWO COUPLES.

 

the-retrieval-duiet-teaser-1

The Retrieval Duet by Aly Martinez is a two part series releasing September 2016.

RETRIEVAL releases on September 13th and will bring readers the first part of this emotional second chance romance.  

TRANSFER (Part Two) will release on September 27th!



am2

Retrieval
(Part One)

Amazon US:

Amazon UK:

iBooks:

Kobo:

Transfer
(Part Two)

Amazon US:

Amazon UK:

iBooks:

Kobo:

retrieval-duet


Blurb

I proposed on our first date.

She laughed and told me I was insane. Less than a day later, she said yes.

It was a whirlwind, but we were happy…

Until we got greedy and wanted a family.

It was a life I couldn’t give her, not for lack of trying. Fertility just wasn’t on our side. We sought out doctors and treatments. Spent money we didn’t have. Lied to our families. Smiled for our friends. Put on a brave face for a world that didn’t understand.

Finally, we were successful…

Until we were forced to bury our son.

We were left broken, battered, and destroyed.

They say love is in the details, but it was the details that ruined us.

This is the story of how I took back what had always been mine.

The retrieval of my wife and our family.


Meet the Author: am

Born and raised in Savannah, Georgia, Aly Martinez is a stay-at-home mom to four crazy kids under the age of five, including a set of twins. Currently living in South Carolina, she passes what little free time she has reading anything and everything she can get her hands on, preferably with a glass of wine at her side.

After some encouragement from her friends, Aly decided to add “Author” to her ever-growing list of job titles. Five books later, she shows no signs of slowing. So grab a glass of Chardonnay, or a bottle if you’re hanging out with Aly, and join her aboard the crazy train she calls life.

STALK HER: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads


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RELEASE BLITZ ~ Stand by T. Gephart

 

 

 
 
 

Title: Stand
Series: Black Addiction #3
Author: T. Gephart

Genre: Rock Star Romance
Release Date: June 27, 2016
 
 
 
Blurb

Good times didn’t last forever. While Beth Hart had enjoyed being the sometimes girlfriend of Max Reynolds—the hot bass player for Black Addiction—she knew it would never be more than a casual fling. He was destined for greatness, and she cared too much to hold him back. So, before she lost her heart and her sanity, she said goodbye to the Bronx, moved to Manhattan and left her party-girl days in the past—along with Max.

Nothing made Max happier than being a success in his own right. And in the last few years, he and his band had well and truly earned it. Moving to the city and enjoying the spoils of his new lifestyle made perfect sense, and he loved his new address. It wasn’t his new huge penthouse apartment that got him excited; it was his new neighbor. The one girl he regretted letting go—Beth.
He wanted her back and would do anything to make it happen. Hopefully it wasn’t too late. 
 

 


 
 

 
Purchase Links

 

AMAZON: US / UK / CA / AU
 

 


 

 
Excerpt
 

Prologue – Beth


Then

It was the calm before the storm.
 
Neither of us had spoken about it last night, both too caught up in each other to care what it all meant. He was irresistible and I saw no reason to fight the urge. No matter how many times we drifted apart, we always seemed to end up back together. Maybe it was sheer magnetism, maybe it was his amazing smile? Or maybe it was his delicious well-toned body that did amazing things to mine? It could have been any of those reasons, but mostly it was because of the way he made me feel.
 
Happy.
 
Some of my best memories featured the man sleeping soundly beside me. And it wasn’t even about the sex, although . . . yeah, his talents weren’t only restricted to the stage. There was just something about him. Something bigger than what he already was, and I knew living in the Bronx and working at Staples wasn’t his destiny.
 
Sadly, neither was I.
 
International rock sensation Power Station had seen it too, signing up Black Addiction—Max’s band—to be their support act for a huge stadium tour. They’d already wowed the crowds at Madison Square Garden, the other crowds would follow too and then the world would see what I already knew.
 
Max Reynolds was a rock star.
 
We’d taken a break from each other around three months ago. No messy break up, no drama—just our lives taking us in different directions. It wasn’t a new thing for us, and in some ways, it just worked. But last night wasn’t us getting back together; last night was something else entirely.
 
His eyes were shut tight as he slept, completely unaware as I watched him. His perfect lips parted just slightly as the air whistled past. And I knew this would be the last time we could do this; at some point we’d stop the revolving door.
 
“Hey.” He slid open an eye, his trademark panty-melting grin not far behind. “You’re awake. Feeling okay?”
 
“Yep, I know better than to try and keep up with you and your band.” I couldn’t help but smile back. “How about you? You had a pretty serious commitment with that bottle of Jäger.” Don’t know why I asked; I’d never seen him rocking the next morning regret like most of us did.
 
“Never felt better.” He smirked, his fingers trailing up my side, tickling my skin until they reached my breast. His talented fingers palmed me, hinting that he had other things on his mind other than his lack of hangover. “And my only commitment last night was pleasing you. So, tell me . . . how did I do?”
 
God, he was smooth.
 
He had this uncanny ability to make you feel like you were the only woman in the room, like nothing else mattered, and even if I knew it was temporary, I loved it.
 
“I think you got all the confirmation you needed last night.” I grinned as I nestled into his side. “If you want your ego stroked, you’ll have to go elsewhere.”
 
“That’s not what I want you to stroke, Beth,” he whispered into my ear, his voice loaded with suggestion.
 
“I should probably go.” It’s not that I didn’t want to stay, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know where this would end up. Sleep was not part of that equation.
 
“Why? Stay in bed with me.” His muscular, inked arms caged me against his body, the heat between us having nothing to do with the temperature in the room. “I’m almost positive you won’t regret it.”
 
I wouldn’t regret it.
 
I never would.
 
But in my heart I knew that this was the end of the road for the two of us. And as much as I wanted to keep going by his side, he had to walk it alone. How much longer could I stay? A week, a month, a year? He needed to be single. Free to do whatever he wanted to do when that spotlight finally hit him and not wonder if it would have been different without a girlfriend ball-and-chain. I wouldn’t be the source of anyone’s regrets, not least someone as special as Max. He was on the cusp of something great, and I cared too much to hold him back.
 
“You need sleep, you have a show tonight.” My hands moved over his chest. “We both know if I stay, there will be no sleep.” I tried in vain to free myself from his arm prison, my attempt laughable as he pulled me closer.
 
“Sleep’s overrated.” The words vibrated against my ear as I closed my eyes and remembered the moment. The one that would be the last time in his arms.
 
“You might not be dealing with a hangover, but you can’t outrun fatigue. Sleep and I’ll see you when you get back in town.”
 
It was a lie, an easy one to tell, knowing that when he came back things would be different. We would be different, and I think deep down he knew it was goodbye.
 
“Beth.” His lips pressed against the back of my neck, my short black hair offering me little protection as his hot breath defied logic and gave me goose bumps. “We’ll always end up like this, you and me.”
 
Not always, not anymore.
 
I didn’t dare say it. More because I didn’t want to hear it even though I knew it was the right thing to do.
 
“You going to let me go?” I asked, his arms showing no sign of releasing me
 
“For now.” He kissed my neck before loosening his hold and allowing me to sit up.
 
“You’re going to do great on this tour; this is what you’ve been waiting for.” I didn’t have to even force the smile on my face, I was genuinely happy for him. “Your life is about to change.”
 
“Whatever happens, happens.” His arms flexed and anchored at the back of his neck. “I’m still going to be me, that won’t ever change.”
 
“Good.” I fished my T-shirt from the edge of the bed and threw it over my head. “And I’ll be your biggest fan.” It was an easy promise to make; being supportive was something that I planned to continue. And something I could do even if it wasn’t by his side.
 
“Just promise you won’t get all weird and start stealing my underwear to sell on eBay.” He watched me as I slid on my own and grabbed my jeans from the floor.
 
“So, I should put back the pair I have stuffed into my purse?” I turned back to face him as I pulled up my jeans, batting my eyes seductively for effect.
 
I hadn’t actually stolen a pair of his boxer briefs, but it was easier than the inevitable so-this-is-where-it-ends that needed to happen.
 
“Call me, Beth.” He didn’t hesitate, his eyes looking directly into mine. It was as if he already knew that I probably wouldn’t but wouldn’t push the issue either. It was a weird stalemate, so much left unsaid, but all those words not spoken completely understood.
 
“See ya, Max.” I allowed myself one last look at him before scooping up my shoes and shuffling out of the room. The door closed behind me giving me a resting place for a second before I walked out of his house.
 
We both needed this. It wasn’t just for him; this was for me too. Together neither of us would reach our full potential, and we owed each other that. I was more than just a bass player’s girlfriend. I was more than a girl with tattoos, funky hair and a short skirt. If I stayed . . . he was too easy to fall in love with.
 
There was no sadness when I left; my heart wasn’t breaking. I was excited about what the future held for both of us and while I’d miss him, someday we would both be thankful.
 
In time we would both move on, and hopefully when he thought of me, he’d remember good things.
 
I would always, when I thought of him.
 

 

 


Also Available

 

 
AMAZON: US / UK / CA / AU
 
 
AMAZON: US / UK / CA / AU
iBOOKS / B&N / KOBO

 


 

 
 

 

Author Bio
 

T Gephart is an indie author from Melbourne, Australia.T’s approach to life has been somewhat unconventional. Rather than going to University, she jumped on a plane to Los Angeles, USA in search of adventure. While this first trip left her somewhat underwhelmed and largely depleted of funds it fueled her appetite for travel and life experience.

With a rather eclectic resume, which reads more like the fiction she writes than an actual employment history, T struggled to find her niche in the world.

While on a subsequent trip the United States in 1999, T met and married her husband. Their whirlwind courtship and interesting impromptu convenience store wedding set the tone for their life together, which is anything but ordinary. They have lived in Louisiana, Guam and Australia and have traveled extensively throughout the US. T has two beautiful young children and one four legged child, Woodley, the wonder dog.

An avid reader, T became increasingly frustrated by the lack of strong female characters in the books she was reading. She wanted to read about a woman she could identify with, someone strong, independent and confident and who didn’t lack femininity. Out of this need, she decided to pen her first book, A Twist of Fate. T set herself the challenge to write something that was interesting, compelling and yet easy enough to read that was still enjoyable. Pulling from her own past “colorful” experiences and the amazing personalities she has surrounded herself with, she had no shortage of inspiration. With a strong slant on erotic fiction, her core characters are empowered women who don’t have to sacrifice their femininity. She enjoyed the process so much that when it was over she couldn’t let it go.

T loves to travel, laugh and surround herself with colorful characters. This inevitably spills into her writing and makes for an interesting journey – she is well and truly enjoying the ride!

Based on her life experiences, T has plenty of material for her books and has a wealth of ideas to keep you all enthralled.

 

Author Links
 

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BLOG HOP ~ Rescuing Emily (Delta Force Heroes Book 2) by Susan Stoker

Rescuing Emily
(Delta Force Heroes Book 2)
by Susan Stoker

Date of Publication: July 19, 2016

 

Rescuing Emily (Delta Force Heroes #2)

Renting out the apartment over his garage shouldn’t be a life-changing decision, but when Delta soldier Cormac “Fletch” Fletcher meets Emily Grant, he feels an instant connection. He can’t stand the thought of Emily and her young daughter living anywhere unsafe. Offering cheap rent is a small price to pay for their safety…and Fletch’s peace of mind.

Being a single mother is difficult at best, but renting the extremely affordable space from Fletch makes Emily’s life a lot easier…until it doesn’t. Suddenly all the money she’s saving thanks to Fletch’s generosity is going into the hands of a blackmailer. And what little food Emily can afford goes to her daughter Annie, so the girl doesn’t go to bed hungry…leaving Emily weaker and weaker.

When miscommunication has Emily assuming Fletch is in on the blackmail, he not only has to gain her trust, but also deal with a man holding a grudge against Fletch and his entire Delta Force team. A task made more difficult when the dangerous man gets his hands on Emily and Annie…


** Rescuing Emily is the 2nd book in the Delta Force Heroes Series. It can be read as a stand-alone, but it’s recommended you read the books in order to get maximum enjoyment out of the series.


Rescuing Emily (Delta Force Heroes #2)

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2016 by Susan Stoker

No part of this work may be used, stored, reproduced or transmitted without written permission from the publisher except for brief quotations for review purposes as permitted by law.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover Design by Chris Mackey, AURA Design Group
Cover Photographer: Darren Birks
Cover Model: Chris Connolly

Edited by Kelli Collins & Missy Borucki

Manufactured in the United States


 

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

 

Dedication

To the real Mrs. Ogliaruso, you were the best second grade teacher Gilbert Linkous Elementary School in Blacksburg, VA, ever had. You had a huge impact on my life, and I will always be thankful for that.

For Shannel. The best day in Oliver’s life was when you signed up to be his foster mom. From foster to adoption, you’re my hero.

Danee, thank you for telling me the story about your bedtime ritual of reading. It was perfect for this story!

 

Prologue

Slamming his apartment door behind him and shaking the entire wall, swearing loud and long, he threw his hat across the room, not satisfied at all when it fluttered to the ground a few feet away. He paced, knowing he’d never forget the humiliation he’d felt while standing in front of the colonel, seeing the disgust in the officer’s eyes.

His squad had been excited to be picked to go through the special training, sure they’d be able to get through the makeshift city undetected. They were infantry soldiers; they’d trained for hours—no, years—in order to be stealthy in urban situations. The thirty days they’d spent at the National Training Center out at Fort Irwin in California had taught them everything they needed to know.

But somehow their entire plan had fallen apart within five minutes of the whistle being blown. Instead of being able to sneak through the city and get to the rendezvous point unscathed, every single one of his squad had been “killed,” hit with a laser from specially designed nonlethal weapons, before they’d made it even halfway through the training scenario.

Remembering how nonchalantly the other unit had been after “killing” them all had felt like salt poured into an open wound. They’d acted as if they hadn’t just ruined his career, his reputation. Sure, the colonel had said it was just an exercise. Had said that his squad had done well, but he’d been lying.

They hadn’t done well.

And it sure as hell wasn’t just an exercise.

He’d seen the colonel laughing with another officer about how fast they’d been “killed.” And the team that had beat them were acting as if what had happened wasn’t a big deal. They’d patted each other on the back and given each other high-fives. To add insult to injury, their team didn’t even have one casualty. Not one. They’d taken out his entire squad as if it was child’s play.

He went into the small bathroom in his apartment and stared at himself in the mirror for a long moment. His entire life he hadn’t been good enough.

Because you’re pathetic.

He shook his head at the voice in his head. He wasn’t. It was them. They were pathetic. And it was up to him to show the colonel that he was just as good as the other team.

Nodding as if he’d made a momentous decision, he started planning in his head. He and his friends had a lot of work to do, but by the time they were done, the other unit would regret their casual treatment of him and his squad on the simulated battlefield and he’d redeem himself with the general in charge of the post.

Knowing your enemy was the first rule in battle, and he vowed to himself then and there that he’d find a weakness in the other group of soldiers and exploit it to his advantage. The asshole soldiers wouldn’t know what hit them. By the time he was done with them, they’d regret their cocky attitude and their brush-off of his squad. He might have been beaten today, but the battle wasn’t over.

He would take them down. No matter who he had to use to do it.

 

Chapter One

Cormac “Fletch” Fletcher looked at the monitor sitting on the kitchen counter at the woman standing at his front door. His security cameras caught every inch of his property, starting from just outside the garage to around the back of the yard. He could tell who was driving up his driveway and who was at his door without leaving his house. Hell, he could even log into the app and check the tapes when he was thousands of miles away on a mission. All he needed was a Wi-Fi connection.

The woman at his door was probably five-nine, taller than the women he was typically attracted to. It was hard to guess her age because she looked tired. Her brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Fletch couldn’t tell what color her eyes were as she kept them downcast, never looking up at the door to be captured by the camera hidden in the ornate door knocker he’d placed there.

He’d received several messages about the rental apartment over his garage, and Fletch had a few interviews lined up with people who had inquired about it. The apartment really wasn’t anything special. It had a single bathroom with a shower/bath combo, one bedroom, and a small kitchen. There were a couple pieces of furniture in the apartment: a double bed, a refrigerator, and an old couch and coffee table. It wasn’t fancy by any stretch of the imagination, but it was clean, and safer than anyone probably knew, considering who he was and what he did for a living.

He didn’t have a lot of enemies, but there were always people who were jealous of him being in Delta Force. It wasn’t widely known, in fact, not many people knew at all, but there was some suspicion that he and his team were more than simple soldiers. They were damn good at what they did and didn’t seem to have any trouble attracting the ladies. The combination had spelled trouble for some of the other Deltas in the past, even without anyone knowing about their Special Forces background. Renting the apartment would mean there would be someone on his property to keep an eye on it when he was away on a mission.

Fletch wiped his hands dry after rinsing the last dish in his sink, and turned off the security monitor. Not advertising the fact that he had such intensive security was key in catching anyone dumb enough to try to rob or vandalize his property. He walked to the door and opened it wide. The woman standing there looked up with a gasp and took a step backwards after seeing him.

Fletch knew he could be scary. He was six feet two inches tall and muscular. He’d spent much of his life making sure he was in shape and that no one would mistake him for anything other than what he was…dangerous.

He had tattoos on his forearms and biceps. They were bright and somewhat gaudy. He looked like a stereotypical sailor. Some of the tattoos he’d gotten when he was young and dumb. He probably wouldn’t have chosen them if he had to make the decision again, but what was done was done. Fletch knew when people who didn’t know him caught a glimpse of him, they were weary. He was big and knew how to use that to his advantage to intimidate people. But the woman on his doorstep wasn’t someone he wanted to scare away. He pasted a smile on his face as he greeted her.

“Hi, you’re Emily Grant? Here about renting the apartment?” Fletch asked, trying to put the woman at ease.

Emily looked up at the man standing in the doorway. If she hadn’t been so desperate, she probably would’ve turned around and gotten right back into her 1998 Honda Civic and driven away. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected out of the man who’d invited her to come check out the apartment, but it wasn’t someone who, while only a few inches taller, could easily bench press her.

His tattoos were also a surprise. She’d seen lots of tattoos on the soldiers on the base, but they were usually more subdued. Black tribal designs or something similar. Instead, the very masculine man had what looked like cartoon characters on his forearms. He was wearing a plaid shirt, open at the throat—enough for her to realize he didn’t have a carpet of fur on his chest—and with the sleeves rolled back to his elbows. She didn’t get an in-depth look at the tattoos, knowing it would be rude to stare, but they still surprised her. Somehow, however, they worked for him.

Putting thoughts of his tattoos and whether he had any others aside, Emily brought her gaze up to the man’s. She needed this apartment. It was one of the only places she could find that was close enough to her work and the school, and was within her small budget.

She took a deep breath. “Yeah. I’m Emily. I appreciate you meeting with me today.” She bravely held out her hand in greeting.

Fletch smiled at the woman. He could see right through her bravado and knew she was scared to death of him. But he gave her points for not backing farther away and for reaching out to shake his hand.

He took her hand in his, careful not to squeeze it too hard. “Nice to meet you. Come on in, we can talk about the particulars, then I’ll show you the apartment.”

Emily nodded and gripped her purse hanging off her shoulder tightly as she followed him into his house. Fletch saw her looking around as if trying to figure out more about him. He knew what image the house projected: not a bachelor. It was neat as a pin, with not one item out of place…exactly how he liked it.

They walked into a small dining room off of a kitchen that could’ve been featured in any cooking magazine. Fletch pulled a chair out from the dark mahogany table and helped her scoot in once she sat.

“Would you like something to drink? Water? Iced tea?”

“No, thank you,” Emily told him, knowing she’d be stupid to take something to drink from a man she didn’t know. It would be easy to drug a glass of tea or water. Especially when she was inside his house. He could render her unconscious before she realized what was happening. She normally wasn’t a paranoid person, but lately, when she couldn’t sleep, she’d been watching too many forensics and crime shows.

Fletch could practically see the woman’s brain churning. She sat uncomfortably in the chair at his table. Her purse was in her lap and she was holding it as if she thought he’d reach across the table and snatch it from her. He wasn’t offended, far from it, he was impressed she was being as cautious as she was. He made sure to sit across from her, keeping the table between them to give her space.

“Do I know you?” Fletch thought the woman looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place her.

She shrugged. “I work at the PX. You might have seen me there.”

Fletch nodded. Now that she mentioned it, he did remember seeing her there a time or two.  “That must be it. My name is Cormac Fletcher, but everyone calls me Fletch. I own the house and live here by myself. I work on base and am called away on trips somewhat frequently. I’m discreet and won’t get in your business, and I expect anyone who rents from me to do the same. I’m past the point in my life where I need or want late-night parties. I like to live quietly and I’d like for anyone who lives on my property to be the same.” He paused, gauging her reaction to his words. Emily sat still, giving him her complete attention.

When she didn’t immediately protest or even show any emotion other than curiosity, he continued, relieved. “The apartment isn’t fancy, I’ve had two people look at it recently and wrinkle their noses and decide it wasn’t for them. Rent includes all utilities. It’s too much of a pain in the ass for me to separate out how much electricity you use versus what I use. All I ask is that you don’t get a wild hair to grow marijuana or something that would make the bills spike every month.”

“No marijuana, check,” Emily mumbled under her breath as she nodded.

Fletch wanted to smile, but he controlled it and went on with his rehearsed speech. “You can use one side of the garage for your car, but any boxes of other stuff you want to store will have to be either in the apartment or you’ll have to rent a storage unit. There’s simply no room in there for more. I usually park next to the side of my house, so don’t worry about taking the empty spot inside the garage for your own vehicle.

“When I’m gone, I’d appreciate it if you could get my mail and look after the place, but if that’s outside anything you want to do, it’s not a deal breaker for renting. Rent’s due in the first week of the month, whichever day works best for you. Any questions?”

Emily tried not to fidget under Fletch’s direct gaze. His eyes were ice blue, and had her pinned in place. His hair was longer than she thought anyone in the Army was allowed to have, and it looked like he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. He was good looking, but even though she was attracted to him, Emily wasn’t looking for any kind of relationship at the moment. She had enough on her plate. Knowing there was one thing he had to understand before she could accept the apartment with any good conscience, she cleared her throat.

“You should know, I have a kid. Her dad’s not in the picture. She’s six and in the first grade. I didn’t know if that would be a deal breaker for you or not. I didn’t see anything in the ad that said whether or not kids were allowed or not.”

“Does she scream all day?”

“Uh…no.”

“Steal? Draw all over the walls? Destroy property?”

“No!” Emily sat up straighter, getting irritated. “She’s six. She’s not a thug. She doesn’t hang out on the street corner with her homies every night. She plays with her toys. She reads books and watches cartoons.”

“Then I don’t think we’ll have a problem,” Fletch said with a smile, amused at how easy it was to rile the woman sitting in front of him.

Emily chewed on her lip, as if contemplating her next words. Fletch saw the moment she worked up the nerve to tell him what was bothering her.

“She can be very inquisitive though. She asks questions…lots of questions. Some people have gotten annoyed with her in the past.”

“Annoyed?” Fletch asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, annoyed. The thing is, Annie’s smart. Really smart. I try to keep her busy and find things to help stimulate her, but she has an unrelenting need to learn. Some of my neighbors in the past have gotten irritated with her asking them questions all the time. But she doesn’t do it to be annoying, she just likes to figure stuff out.”

“Of course she does. She’s a kid. I have no problem with questions, Emily.”

“Okay, but—”

“Is she gonna break into my house and come up to my room in the middle of the night and interrogate me about how the garage door opener works?”

Emily giggled. “Maybe not in the middle of the night, but I’d say there’s a pretty good chance that sooner or later she’s gonna want to know. And, as far as I know, no one has taught her how to pick a lock…yet.”

“Good to know,” Fletch said with a grin.

“I just…some people don’t like kids and I don’t want to live anywhere again where she’s made to feel like a freak.”

“Again?” Fletch asked in a low pissed-off voice. “You lived somewhere where someone made her feel like a freak? A six-year-old kid?”

“She was four, and yes.” Emily’s answer was succinct and she didn’t offer any other details.

“I haven’t been around kids all that much, but anyone who sees the thirst for knowledge as anything but a good thing, is an asshole, and you’re better off not being around them, and having your daughter around them.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Emily said softly.

Fletch tried to relax his shoulders. It pissed him off that someone would be cruel to a kid. Growing up, he’d also been smarter than his classmates, and he’d experienced some of what Emily was describing himself. Probably not to the extent of her daughter though, if Emily’s protectiveness was anything to go by. “Want to see the apartment?”

“Yeah, but…uh…can I ask how much the security deposit will be? There’s no use in me seeing it if I can’t afford it.”

Fletch tilted his head as he looked at Emily. Really examined her. He hadn’t taken the time before because he wasn’t sure if he’d be renting to her or not. But he liked what he’d heard so far.

She was wearing a T-shirt and jeans. She had an old pair of sneakers on her feet. She looked casual, but Fletch could see something he hadn’t seen in any of the other people he’d interviewed so far—desperation. He saw it all the time at work at the missions they went on. People frequently put on a front all the time, but he could see that this woman needed this apartment. He didn’t know her story, but recognized that for whatever reason, renting the little space above his garage was vitally important to her.

Fletch was also impressed with her candidness about her daughter. He’d interviewed someone just that morning who he knew had been hiding something from him. Given time, he would’ve figured out exactly what, but he didn’t feel like going through the hassle. He didn’t get good vibes from the man, and it wasn’t worth the effort to find out something that would make him want to turn the man down when his intuition was telling him to do so from the get-go.

But Emily laid it out there, making sure he knew not only that she had a young child, but that she was gifted, and that others had found her annoying in the past.

He made a quick decision and cut a couple hundred dollars off of what he’d planned to rent the apartment for; he didn’t need the money anyway. He’d prefer to have someone reliable and responsible living on his property to keep an eye on it when he wasn’t around.

“I haven’t had good luck in renting it so far,” Fletch told her in a nonchalant tone, “so if you’re willing to help out with the house when I’m away, I’ll rent it to you for five hundred a month with only half that for the security deposit.”

Emily gaped at the man. Five hundred dollars? And only two-fifty for a deposit? Was he kidding? “Is that a joke?” She couldn’t stop her incredulous question.

Fletch smiled at the disbelief on Emily’s face. He didn’t blame her; he knew he could probably get double that if he pushed. But it was obvious she needed a break. “No joke. You interested in seeing it? Don’t agree until you check it out. It’s only got one bedroom, so you’d have to share with your daughter. It’s nothing special, you might hate it.”

“I won’t hate it,” Emily whispered, still in shock at her luck. She’d taken the day off work, knowing that even though the missed hours would hurt her budget, she needed to find a better place to live for her and Annie. The landlord at the seedy apartment complex they were currently staying at had gotten more aggressive in his pursuit of her, and Emily knew it wasn’t because he was interested in her—but because of Annie.

Her daughter was beautiful. Yes, she was only six, but she was tall for her age and slender. She had long, beautiful blonde hair that she’d inherited from her father. She had blue eyes and never met a stranger. Annie was friendly and bubbly and Emily knew the landlord, damn him, had a sick interest in her daughter.

Money was always an issue. Ever since Annie’s father had left while Emily had still been pregnant, she’d fought to provide Annie with a safe and happy life. She worked at Fort Hood in the PX, the Post Exchange. It was the general store on base. She wasn’t able to work full time, because she didn’t have the money to pay for child care for Annie. She’d relied on neighbors to look after her daughter before she’d started kindergarten full time, but now that Annie was in the first grade, and in class all day, Emily could work a full six hours every day. She dropped Annie off at the elementary school at seven-thirty, and was able to get to work by eight. She worked until two, without a lunch break, then picked Annie up around two-thirty.

Emily had no health insurance and no retirement plan, but Annie was loved and happy. It was worth it. But to be offered a reliable, secure, and quiet place to live for only five hundred dollars a month? It was as if Emily had hit the lottery.

Even before seeing the ad in the paper for this apartment, she’d planned on leaving the scummy place she lived in before the month was up, even if she had to live in her car. She’d done that when she’d been pregnant, and had sworn to herself that Annie would never know that kind of life. But Emily had been losing hope of finding anything appropriate.

The cheapest apartment she’d been able to find had been eight hundred a month, and it looked scarier than where she was now. Since the building was close to the Army base, Emily had thought she’d feel safe living with other soldiers, as the landlord had told her most of the other occupants were single men and women who worked at Fort Hood, but unfortunately, that hadn’t been the case.

Annie’s father had taught her in more ways than one that just because someone was a soldier, it didn’t mean they were a good person. While she’d thought they were starting their lives together, he’d apparently just been in it to get laid. Somehow he’d arranged to get transferred to another base not too long after she’d happily told him she was pregnant with his baby, and informed her that he didn’t want her following him.

Emily knew she could probably go to the Army and do a paternity test and force him to pay child support, but she didn’t want that for Annie, or herself. Years of relying on someone else to send her money made her stomach churn.

She and Annie had been okay so far, and Emily knew she’d continue to do whatever it took to keep her daughter safe and happy…without help.

Nodding at Emily, Fletch stood up. “All right, let’s go and check it out, then if you like it, we can come back here and do the paperwork, okay?”

“Okay.”

Ten short minutes later they were back at the dining room table in Fletch’s house. Emily had immediately said the small space was perfect, even though it was obvious Fletch told her there were all sorts of things he should probably do to upgrade it.

“I’ll need to make a copy of your ID,” Fletch told Emily, being as nonchalant as he could. He didn’t really need it for her to sign the lease, but there was no way he’d let anyone live on his property, no matter how fragile and lovely she seemed, without doing a background check. It wasn’t completely legal, but his friend, Tex, was discrete and could have it done within an hour.

Tex was a medically retired SEAL living out in Pennsylvania. He used to live in Virginia, but had moved his entire operation after meeting a beautiful woman named Melody on the Internet. Tex was the eyes and ears behind the scenes for their Delta Force team, and several other Special Forces groups. The man was pure genius with a computer and could find information that someone would swear was locked up tighter than the money at Fort Knox. No one ever questioned how he was able to pull off some of the things he did, they were just grateful he was on their side.

Fletch watched as Emily bent her head and pulled her wallet out of her purse. She handed her license over to him, saying, “If you laugh at my first name, I’ll have to hurt you.”

Emily watched as Fletch looked down at the small plastic card she’d handed him and he tried to hold back his smile. His lips twitched, but he looked up and said with a mostly straight face, “Miracle?”

Emily sighed, obviously used to telling the story about her given name. “Yeah. My parents were older. They’d always wanted kids and when I was born, they called me their little miracle.”

“But you go by Emily?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Definitely.”

“Miracle is a pretty name.”

Emily made a face. “Maybe, but memories of being made fun of throughout my elementary and middle school years made it not so pretty after a while.”

“Kids are cruel.”

“Yup.”

“Your parents still around?”

Emily didn’t really want to get into this with Fletch. He was still a stranger after all—but she didn’t want to be rude either. “Unfortunately, no. They died when I was in college.”

“Tough.”

That was the understatement of the year, but she merely said, “Yeah.”

Fletch carried Emily’s driver’s license to the small printer he had off to the side of the room and made a copy.

“So, you’re not married?” Emily asked, deciding if he could be nosy, so could she.

“Nope.”

Emily waited and when he didn’t elaborate, she pushed. “This place looks like you’re married.”

Fletch barked out a laugh. “It does, doesn’t it? I actually hired someone to decorate it. I didn’t give her much assistance, and this is what I got when she was done.”

“She did a good job,” Emily observed, looking around.

“Yeah. Apparently it’s fun to spend someone else’s money.”

Emily didn’t smile, but continued to run her eyes over every inch of the room she could see. “I bet it is.”

Fletch leaned against the wall next to the printer and watched Emily check out his house. He wondered what she saw. He looked around to try to see it from her eyes. He had two leather couches that looked stiff and formal, but when you sat in them, you melted into the cushions. He had a large flat-screen television on the wall and a coffee table that looked perfectly normal, but had a secret compartment under it that currently held a Sig Sauer 40 caliber handgun. He was always prepared for the unknown. But thinking about the various weapons lying around the house made him realize that he needed to make sure they were all secure. If there was going to be a child in his house, he wanted to be sure to protect her.

Not that her daughter would be hanging out with him, but if she came over with her mom to bring in the mail, the last thing he wanted was for her to find one of his weapons and accidentally set it off. He shuddered at the thought, and vowed to move them all way above kid-level as soon as Emily left.

There was a pair of boots lying on the floor next to one of the couches; he’d left them there the day before when he’d gotten back from the base. Other than that, everything else was in its place and there were no stray papers or magazines or any kind of “stuff” that could be seen.

“I’m a bit of a neat freak,” Fletch told Emily unnecessarily as he came back to the table to sit next to her.

“Yeah, I can see that,” she laughed, turning her eyes back to him. “But it’s nice. She did a good job. It’s formal without being fancy. Comfortable without being stuffy. I hope you don’t expect mine to look like this,” she teased. “Annie and I are not neat freaks.”

Fletch laughed and handed her license back to her. “No, I don’t give a shit what your place looks like, as long as there aren’t mice and cockroaches.”

Emily shuddered. “Oh no. We might not be neat, but we’re clean.”

“Then we’re good.”

They smiled at each other. Fletch pushed the lease papers over to her. “Take these home. Read them over, get them looked at by a lawyer if you want, but I want to make sure you completely understand everything and agree before you sign.”

Emily looked at him in confusion. “Did you hide anything weird in here?”

“Weird?”

“Yeah, weird.”

“Weird how?” Fletch asked.

“I don’t know. Like my car only gets four-point-two feet of space in the garage and if I violate it, I’m out. Or weird like if you see Annie after four in the afternoon, I owe more on the rent, or weird if I’m late one day on giving you the rent money, I’m gone.”

Fletch started out smiling at her, but was frowning by the end of her comments. “Fuck no. Look, Emily, I’m a lot of things, but I’m not an asshole. If you’re having issues paying the rent, just talk to me and we’ll figure something out. I already told you that I don’t care if your daughter is around. I might get upset if she plays with something inappropriate in the garage, but only because it could hurt her, not because I care about anything out there. It’s all just stuff. Stuff that can be replaced. The lease is a simple one, I printed it off the damn Internet. There’s nothing weird in there.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Emily’s voice was low, but she didn’t break eye contact. “I just wanted to be sure.”

“Good. Look it over, make sure it’s amenable to you. Bring it back and you can move in whenever you’re ready. Today’s the twentieth, if you want to move in before the first, feel free. I won’t charge you for this month, consider it a gift.” Fletch narrowed his eyes and leaned toward her. “If someone is giving Annie a hard time for asking questions, I’m okay with you getting out of there and moving in here now. No kid should have to feel bad for being herself.”

“Again, thank you.” Emily had no idea how she’d gotten so lucky, but she’d never been so glad in all her life that she’d seen the ad in the paper about the apartment. She’d been actively looking, but had found the Sunday paper in the recycle bin behind her current apartment. She usually looked over the paper at work, but since she wasn’t working that Sunday, she’d rummaged in the recycles for the paper.

“Can I drop this by after work tomorrow?” Emily wanted to have her boss at the PX look it over. She couldn’t afford to take it to a lawyer, but Jimmy liked her and he’d be able to tell her if it looked okay or not.

“Of course. I’ll leave a key under the mat by the stairs that go up to the apartment.”

“Uh, you know that’s the first place burglars would look for a spare key, don’t you?”

Fletch barked out a laugh. If someone did manage to somehow get on to his property undetected, his face would be recorded from so many different angles, he’d be caught before he could get too far away. “I think it’ll be okay for a day or so, Em.”

Emily smiled shyly back at Fletch, teasing him, “Okay, but if I come back and someone has stolen the couch up there, I’ll expect you to replace it.”

“Deal.” Fletch smiled. Maybe having a renter wouldn’t be so bad after all. He’d make sure Tex got the background check done on one Miracle Emily Grant before she returned the signed lease the next day. It’d be child’s play for the man.

Fletch would sign it after making sure she was everything she seemed to be. He didn’t think he had anything to worry about. The woman seemed open and honest, and relieved to have a place for her and her daughter to live, even if it was a small, barely furnished, hole in the wall.

Being safe trumped material things, and he understood that in a way not a lot of other men would. He’d seen too much in his ten years in the Army, and five years in Delta Force. People would lie, cheat, steal, and kill to feel safe. He’d seen it over and over. Mothers who did whatever the local terrorists and bullies ordered them to, simply to protect their children. Kids who joined gangs, just to feed their families. The horrors of the world went on and on.

But Fletch could tell that the woman sitting in front of him now was a completely different woman than the one he’d invited into his home thirty minutes ago. She was more relaxed and at ease, whereas before she was tense, cautious, and suspicious. Simply because she’d been offered a safe place to live for her and her daughter.

Fletch liked that he could give that to her. It felt good. He’d helped too many people to count in his lifetime, but he could feel the relief emanating from the woman all the way to his gut. “Go tell Annie she has a new home and I’ll see you when I see you. Yeah?”

Emily nodded. “Yeah.”

They stood up and Fletch walked her to his door. He stood in the entryway with one arm braced on the doorjamb and watched as Emily walked toward her car. She stopped when she was halfway there and turned to him. “Thank you, Fletch. I know you’re totally giving me a break on the security deposit and rent, and I appreciate it. I’ll do what I can to help around here, you just need to let me know what you want me to do. I can rake, mow, sweep and—not that it looks like you need any help—I can even clean your house if you wanted me to.”

“You’re welcome, Emily. But I didn’t hire you to be my maid or groundskeeper. I’m actually getting as much out of this arrangement as you are. I have a responsible tenant who isn’t interested in robbing me blind or throwing crazy parties, living on my property. It’s a win-win situation. I’ll see you later.”

Fletch mentally rolled his eyes at her offer. It was sweet, but there was no way he’d ask her to do anything manual. She could look after his house when he was on a mission, but other than that, there wasn’t much that needed to be done that he couldn’t do himself.

“Okay. See you later.”

Fletch closed his front door and heard her car start up, complete with the muffler backfiring. After turning on the security monitor, he watched as her car backed out of his driveway and disappeared onto the road next to his house. He picked up the piece of paper with Emily’s information on it and called Tex. He was ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure Emily was just who she said she was, and what she looked like—a woman who was down on her luck and wanted a quiet place for her and her daughter to live.

Suddenly, he was looking forward to meeting her daughter. From what little Emily had said, she sounded precocious and fun. Fletch hadn’t ever really thought about having children, or even been around many, but it occurred to him that it might be fun to teach a child things like how a garage door opener worked.

As far as he was concerned, the sooner Emily and Annie moved in, the better he’d feel. They’d be safe in the small apartment above his garage. He’d make sure of it.


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About the Author

New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author, Susan Stoker has a heart as big as the state of Texas where she lives, but this all American girl has also spent the last fourteen years living in Missouri, California, Colorado, and Indiana. She’s married to a retired Army man who now gets to follow her around the country.

She debuted her first series in 2014 and quickly followed that up with the SEAL of Protection Series, which solidified her love of writing and creating stories readers can get lost in.


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