Now available for Pre-order!

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REEVE IS COMING! 

Meet Reeve & Emily in First Touch releasing December 29th!

Blurb

When Emily Wayborn goes home to visit her mom while on hiatus from her hit TV show, she receives a voicemail from her former best friend, Amber. Though the two were once notorious party girls, they haven’t spoken in years. Although the message might sound benign to anyone else, Amber uses a safe word that Emily recognizes, a word they always used to get out of sticky situations during their wild days. And what’s more chilling than the voicemail: it turns out that Amber has gone missing.

Determined to track down her friend, Emily follows a chain of clues that lead her to the enigmatic billionaire Reeve Sallis, a hotelier known for his shady dealings and play boy reputation. Now, in order to find Amber, Emily must seduce Reeve to learn his secrets and discover the whereabouts of her friend. But as she finds herself more entangled with him, she finds she’s drawn to Reeve for more than just his connection to Amber, despite her growing fear that he may be the enemy. When she’s forced to choose where her loyalty lies, how will she decide between saving Amber and saving her heart?

Excerpt

The first time I shared a man with Amber had been on my seventeenth birthday.

She’d been hanging around the neighborhood for the better part of the six months before that, and we’d become friends. We had the same taste in food and music and movies and, unlike the other girls we knew, we both preferred a line of coke to a bowl of weed. “Champagne taste,” Amber would say. “That’s us.”

Though we were both the same age, our lives had been very different. I’d go to school during the day, trying to pretend that my grades were salvageable as she’d watched The Home Shopping Network and ate Cheetos on the neighbor’s couch. Amber had dropped out of high school, and since she’d also runaway from home, no one was pushing her to go while graduation was the one thing my mother demanded of me.

I’d hated everything back then. School. My mother. My neighborhood. My body. Everything but Amber. She’d been fun. Sassy. Sexy. She was electric and electrifying and everything I wanted to be. And she cared for me. Maybe even loved me. If I had gone to a shrink they probably would have said that was why I latched onto her—that I thought of her as the mother mine had never been. I knew how screwed up everything seemed. But who could ever know why a person fell for another? I only knew that I had been dull and dim and that Amber made me less so.

She’d also had things I didn’t. Things that money bought. The clothes she wore were designer, her nails were always done. She’d lowered her panties once to show me her Brazilian. Whenever I’d asked how she paid for things, she’d always answered simply, “My uncle.” Even as we’d grown closer to each other that was all she’d tell me about the mysterious relative.

“For your birthday,” she’d said two days before, “I’ve got a surprise. Plan to spend the weekend with me.”

So that Friday, I slipped out of school early and met Amber at the bus station where she purchased two tickets to Santa Monica. Though I couldn’t get her to give me even a hint as to where we were going or what we were doing, I spent the two-hour bus ride buzzing with excitement. Whatever Amber had in mind, I knew without a doubt that this trip would be the beginning of the next phase of my life. I was ready. I was so ready.

Outside the station in Santa Monica, Amber bummed a smoke off a street musician and I scanned the street, taking in the sights of a place I’d never been. A red convertible parked nearby caught my attention, more specifically, the man leaning against it. He was older, maybe as old as my mother, but attractive. Not because he was all that good looking, exactly—though his body was definitely fit and trim—but because of what he exuded. Confidence. Assurance. Money. He drew my attention, and in the way that a restless, sexually charged young girl often did, I found myself wondering about him. What it would be like to kiss a man like him. What it would feel like to be beneath him. I’d had plenty of sex before. With boys from school. I’d yet to meet one who knew what he was doing, and though I would never have admitted it out loud, I was dying for it, thoughts of it never far from my mind.

When Amber followed the line of my sight, she dropped her cigarette with a squeal and exclaimed, “There he is, Em! Come on.”

“There who is?” I asked as she tugged me toward the very man I’d been staring at.

“My uncle!” After throwing her duffle bag into the back seat, she jumped into the man’s arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. Then she proceeded to make out with him like I’d done on more than one occasion with the boys under the bleachers at school. Never out on a public street. Never with a man who had to shave everyday.

When they had finished their display and Amber was back on her feet again, she made introductions. “Rob this is Emily. Em, Rob.”

He may have said something to me. I didn’t really know because I’d been too busy staring at her, my jaw gaping.

“Oh, Emily, he’s not really my uncle,” she told me as she jumped into the passenger seat. “Get in.”

She’d misread the cause of my surprise. I grinned—only one of the many times I’d grin that day—and climbed in the backseat. If Amber hadn’t been the coolest person I’d ever met before that moment, she’d certainly proven herself now.

About the Author:

Laurelin Paige is the NY Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling Author of the Fixed Trilogy. She’s a sucker for a good romance and gets giddy anytime there’s kissing, much to the embarrassment of her three daughters. Her husband doesn’t seem to complain, however. When she isn’t reading or writing sexy stories, she’s probably singing, watching Game of Thrones and the Walking Dead, or dreaming of Michael Fassbender. She’s also a proud member of Mensa International though she doesn’t do anything with the organization except use it as material for her bio.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Pinterest

REEVE IS COMING! 

Meet Reeve & Emily in First Touch releasing December 29th!

Now available for Pre-order!

Amazon US  *  Amazon UK  *  Barnes & Noble  *  iBooks  *  Google Play

Blurb

When Emily Wayborn goes home to visit her mom while on hiatus from her hit TV show, she receives a voicemail from her former best friend, Amber. Though the two were once notorious party girls, they haven’t spoken in years. Although the message might sound benign to anyone else, Amber uses a safe word that Emily recognizes, a word they always used to get out of sticky situations during their wild days. And what’s more chilling than the voicemail: it turns out that Amber has gone missing.

Determined to track down her friend, Emily follows a chain of clues that lead her to the enigmatic billionaire Reeve Sallis, a hotelier known for his shady dealings and play boy reputation. Now, in order to find Amber, Emily must seduce Reeve to learn his secrets and discover the whereabouts of her friend. But as she finds herself more entangled with him, she finds she’s drawn to Reeve for more than just his connection to Amber, despite her growing fear that he may be the enemy. When she’s forced to choose where her loyalty lies, how will she decide between saving Amber and saving her heart?

Excerpt

“I hope you’re nice and relaxed, Emily. Because we need to have a chat.”

Apprehension fluttered in my belly. Chatting was definitely not the direction I wanted to go in from here. Whatever he had to say, I couldn’t possibly listen. I was too agitated.

But without him spelling it out, I knew that was the terms of this arrangement. He’d touch me—in his way. And I’d listen, whether I wanted to or not.

So I propped myself up again and gave him as much of my attention as I could.

“It’s interesting,” he said, his thumbs doing that amazing thing on the bottom of my foot, “how people respond to you when they believe you’ve gotten away with murder.”

My stomach dropped. No speech that started with murder had a happy ending.

“Most people are frightened of you,” he said as his hand stroked up my shin. “They pull their business. They stop attending your events. They certainly won’t let themselves be seen with you. It’s not really anything to fret over, losing those connections. You don’t want cowards in your court. Good riddance to them.”

“I’m not a coward,” I managed to say defensively. Though I wasn’t sure why I was defending myself. Or why I was anxious that he might mean good riddance to me when that was probably exactly what I should be wishing he meant.

He glanced up at me, amusement in his features. “No, you’re not. You’re not scared. Or you’re not scared enough.”

I barely fought the shiver that begged to stutter through my body. It was a menacing statement, and I wanted to deny it as well. Tell him that I was definitely scared enough. But what the hell did that mean, anyway? Considering how turned on I was despite everything I’d learned about him, still turned on despite the foreboding in his tone, well, maybe he had a point. I really wasn’t scared enough.

The amusement transformed to what looked more like awe. Then his attention fell back to my leg and I couldn’t see his face well enough to read him. But after he pushed my ankle back so that my knee bent, his touch changed. A single finger traced the line of my inner thigh. Softly. Sweetly. Just as he got to where I so wanted him to go, he abruptly stopped. One second passed. Two.

Then he resumed the firm pressure from before, reclaiming his restraint. For now.

I could wait.

His speech continued, his voice firm, icy. “There are other people, too. Those that respect you. They aren’t necessarily your friends, because they’re also scared—probably even more so than those who keep their distance. They continue their financial support of your endeavors. They invite you to their parties. Their children’s weddings. They look out for you. Because, you see, they’re afraid that if they don’t…well.”

My heart hammered in my ears. Suddenly I was feeling vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with my nudity and all to do with the frailty of my size compared to the strength of his.

As if to prove that point, Reeve increased the pressure of his kneading, digging his fingers into the flesh of my thigh with a bite that sang and stung. “It’s a very intense form of power, actually. Much like having money. I’m sure you’ve gotten a taste of that with the recent success of your show. Imagine that but multiplied by a billion.”

“Mm hmm,” I said, a response that served as an answer though it was mostly an involuntary reaction to his hands. He’d reached the top of my limb again. Like before, the tips of his fingers brushed against my folds.

Goddammit, I was wet. And trembling. And overwrought with anticipation. This time, would he let his touch wander farther up? In?

His hands left me. He pushed my leg down, pulled the sheet back over my leg and pinned me with narrowed eyes. “It’s also not unlike the power of being a very attractive person. Another privilege that you understand.” He scanned the length of my body, the sheet still a barrier between us, and let out an audible breath. “I imagine you must understand it very well indeed.”

It was an accusation. The grit in his voice and the weight of his stare said so. Fucker. Whatever hopes I’d had for this whole scene of his, it was clear now that his intent was not friendly. Punishing, more like. I still wasn’t sure for what exactly. For being in his pool. For using my beauty to draw his interest. For coming onto him without his permission. I’d thought his humiliating body search had been all the reprimand I was getting. Guess I’d been wrong.

My eyes fell. However, a glance at his crotch gave me the slightest smidgeon of satisfaction. He was unmistakably hard. He might be punishing me, but he was punishing himself too.

About the Author:

Laurelin Paige is the NY Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling Author of the Fixed Trilogy. She’s a sucker for a good romance and gets giddy anytime there’s kissing, much to the embarrassment of her three daughters. Her husband doesn’t seem to complain, however. When she isn’t reading or writing sexy stories, she’s probably singing, watching Game of Thrones and the Walking Dead, or dreaming of Michael Fassbender. She’s also a proud member of Mensa International though she doesn’t do anything with the organization except use it as material for her bio.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Pinterest

“You’re not going back to the party.”

She cocked her head, and I saw the confusion in her alcohol- glazed eyes as she wrinkled her nose at me. All cute, like a rabbit.

“You look like a bunny.”

“You look like an ax murder,” she said, frowning. “And I thought London was looking for me. Aren’t we going the wrong way?”

“I lied. I do that a lot,” I told her, staring at her lips. I reached out, catching her chin in my hand, running my thumb across her lips. Our eyes locked, and I don’t know if her pulse started to rise but mine sure as fuck did. What the hell had I been thinking, writing to this girl? She was so pretty and perfect and had this amazing, magical life just waiting for her and all I could think about was dragging her down into the dirt and shoving my cock into every hole she had.

She’d scream while I did it, too, the same sweet screams that played in my head every night while I jacked off.

I hated myself.

“Why did you lie?” she asked, her voice a whisper.

“To get you away from Taz. It’s not safe with him.”

Mel’s forehead creased in confusion, her brain moving so slowly I could practically see the wheels turning behind her eyes. She might be smart as fuck most of the time, but she’d transitioned to drunker than fuck tonight. Kit. Kit and Em. They’d done this to her.

I leaned in closer, catching her scent. For an instant I swayed, so tempted . . .

“They told me all about you,” she whispered.

“Who?”

“The other girls. Kit, Em. Jessica. I know how you operate,” she continued. One of her hands rose, touching my chest. Fire burst through me, because if I’d wanted her before I was desperate for her now. She was so soft, so sweet . . . so perfect.

Then her words sank in.

“What did you just say?”

“They told me all about you,” she said, eyes dropping to stare at  my lips. “They told me you have a Madonna-whore complex.” I froze.

“A what?”

“A Madonna-whore complex,” she repeated, her voice earnest. “You like to screw dirty girls and you put clean girls on pedestals, where they can stay perfect and pure. That’s pretty messed up, Painter. There’s no such thing as Madonnas and whores. We’re all just people.”

The words stunned me. What the hell was she talking about? Just because I didn’t want her dragged down in the drama and bullshit of this life didn’t mean I had some sort of fucking complex. And who the hell were the Hayes sisters to have an opinion? I couldn’t tell what pissed me off more—the fact that they’d talked to Mel about me or that they hadn’t done a better job of scaring her off.

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Kit and Em are crazy, and that friend of yours—Jessica? She’s like a car crash. You don’t belong here, Mel.”

“And where do I belong?”

“With some nice kid who’ll treat you like a queen and work his ass off to give you everything perfect for the rest of your life.” The words were practically a growl.

Her eyes widened.

“What if I don’t want perfect?”

“Too fucking bad, because that’s what you’re getting.”

Reaper’s Fall is the newest standalone in the Reaper’s MC Series.  Painter & Melanie’s story will be available on November 10th and is currently up for Pre-order!

Available at the following retailers:

Amazon US  *  Amazon UK  *  Nook  *  iBooks

Blurb

The New York Times bestselling author of Reaper’s Stand is back in her “uber-alpha rough world of MCs”* as one woman’s future is rocked by the man whose hardcore past could destroy her…

He never meant to hurt her.

Levi “Painter” Brooks was nothing before he joined the Reapers motorcycle club. The day he patched in, they became his brothers and his life. All they asked in return was a strong arm and unconditional loyalty—a loyalty that’s tested when he’s caught and sentenced to prison for a crime committed on their behalf.

Melanie Tucker may have had a rough start, but along the way she’s learned to fight for her future. She’s escaped from hell and started a new life, yet every night she dreams of a biker whose touch she can’t forget. It all started out so innocently—just a series of letters to a lonely man in prison. Friendly. Harmless. Safe.

Now Painter Brooks is coming home… and Melanie’s about to learn that there’s no room for innocence in the Reapers MC.

About the Author:

Joanna Wylde is a New York Times bestselling author and creator of the Reapers Motorcycle Club series. She currently lives in Idaho.

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EXCERPT

I finally walk in the office two minutes after eight. I’m late for the first time in six months, and I don’t even care. Sometimes when life weighs you down, you simply stop caring.
The elevator opens to my floor, and I step out in somewhat of a trance—a mix of tired, hung-over, and confused. Monday feels like Friday, and that’s never a good sign.
A strong arm wraps around me from behind, pulling me back into a dark room. I’m ready to fight back, but his familiar scent tickles my nose, and I relax.
“You’re late.” His breath hits the back of my neck.
“I overslept. It won’t happen again.”
His fingers curl against the fabric of my navy blue shift dress. “Does your new perfume have a hint of tequila in it?” he asks.
“You don’t like it?” I ask, hiding from the truth.
“Don’t fuck with me, Ms. Fields. Who did you drink with last night because it wasn’t me?”
“Why do you have to be so smart?”
“Lila.”
I close my eyes tightly, praying for forgiveness in advance. “I may have had a few shots last night before bed.”
He spins me around in his arms, and it’s only then that I realize he pulled us into a small conference room. He has me pressed against the wall, his arms framing my face. “I’ve never known a person to do shots alone.”
Even with only the dim light showing through the partially open door, I can see his eyes. “I wasn’t alone.”
He pushes against the door until it closes then frames me in again. There’s nowhere to run. No lies to tell. “I don’t want him there alone with you. Just thinking about it is making me sick.”
I swallow my regret. I can’t do anything about what’s already been done.
“Move in with me,” he says, his lips a whisper above mine. I answer the only way I can, standing on my tiptoes to press my lips on his. I want him to forget just as much as I need to stop thinking.
He grips the back of my neck, deepening the kiss by pressing his tongue between my lips. I’m lost in him—swept away by the waves he creates from head to toe. I splay my hands on his stomach, feeling his taut muscles through his crisp dress shirt. I slide them up until my fingers meet behind his neck, curling into his hair.
“I’m not a jealous man,” he breathes as his mouth trails a path down my throat.
“Okay,” I say softly, my body aching for his.
“But you make me jealous.”
I wrap my arms tightly around his neck. “I love you,” I whisper into his ear.
He groans, lifting me until my legs are wrapped around his hips. My dress is short … it wouldn’t take much.
The door clicks, but his lips stay on me. I open my mouth, but the light comes on, warning him before I can. He looks up but doesn’t move to put me down. My cheeks burn red when I see who’s standing there.
“Sorry, Mr. Stanley,” Jane, the receptionist says, her own face turning a deep shade of red. “You asked me to bring Mr. Stone in here. I didn’t-”
“It’s okay, Jane. I’ve got it from here,” Pierce interrupts. She wastes no time before disappearing around the corner. Not that I blame her.
My face only burns hotter when I see Blake standing where she’d been. He’s not looking at Pierce … just me. The color drains from his face as he steps back, lowering his wounded eyes. I don’t want to watch, but I also can’t look away.
My chest tightens as I loosen my grip on Pierce and fight to stand on my own two feet again. He lets me, but his body is still flush with mine.
“Let me go,” I say, trying my best to make it so Blake doesn’t hear.
He does, slowly, adjusting my skirt along the way. “Now he knows,” he whispers against my ear before pulling away.
My eyes widen as I watch him take a seat at the conference room table. He looks back at me before turning his attention to Blake. There’s nothing I’d like to do more than disappear from this room, but I fear for each of their safety if I do.
“Are you going to come sit down, Blake, or are we holding this meeting in the hallway?” Pierce asks, leaning back in his chair. For a second, he reminds me of Wade; I hate comparing the two.
I glance over at Blake. He’s pondering, hands fisted at his side, eyes narrowed in on the man I was entangled with just minutes ago. A still frame of it could definitely go next to uncomfortable in the dictionary. “Did you call me here for a meeting, Stanley, or did you call me here to prove that you have bigger balls?”
Pierce has a smug look on his face, but as he looks over at me, his expression softens instantly. If he thought this was going to be okay—that I was somehow going to not see through him—he was wrong. He didn’t just hurt Blake; he hurt me.
His eyes shift back to Blake. “A meeting, of course. We just lost track of time.”
Blake steps into the room, walking right past me to the side the table opposite Pierce. I watch—panicked—as he leans over the table. “I swear to God … if you are using her to get back at me, I will fucking kill you. She’s not a prize. She’s not a way to punish me, and so help me God, if you hurt her-”
Pierce stands swiftly, leaning in until their faces are only about a foot apart. “I would never hurt her because I love her. Do you know what love is because I seriously doubt it.” My heart races, and I have no idea what to do to make this all stop. “And while we’re having our man to man, I’m going to warn you once to stay the fuck away from her outside of work. I was the one who picked up the pieces you left behind, and I’m not going to sit here and let you hurt her again.”
“I was protecting her,” Blake says through gritted teeth.
Pierce tilts his head, the look on his face absolutely murderous. “I forgot how good you are at protecting women.”

Love Unspoken is the second book in the Flawed Love series!

Add Love Unspoken  to your TBR list on Goodreads!

RELEASE DATE: October 19th

 

I lent my heart to the bad boy, and he did exactly what I expected he would. He broke it.

And the guy I should have been with—he’s still here. He tries to take my mind off everything I’ve lost while showing me what I could have. I’m ready for a new start, to fall in love again … to do what I should have done in the first place.

Everything seems perfect.

Then the past comes walking back in. I thought I was over him, but one look and I know that’s not true. We went through too much together for those feelings to completely fade away.

When my past and present collide, how am I supposed to choose? They both love me, and I love them.

A heart will be broken … and it could be mine.

Lies Unspoken (Book One) is Now ON SALE for ONLY $0.99!

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About the Author:

Lisa DeJong

Lisa De Jong is a wife, mother and full-time number cruncher who lives in the Midwest. Her writing journey involved insane amounts of coffee and many nights of very little sleep but she wouldn’t change a thing. She also enjoys reading, football and music.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

 

Written in Ink Synopsis:

 A Brand New Full Length Novel in the Bestselling Montgomery Ink Series where the quiet, inked Montgomery finds his match in the woman with a fiery passion and a past full of secrets.

 There’s nothing worse for a writer than missing a deadline. For Griffin Montgomery, his failure to do what he loves comes at a blow. He didn’t understand how it was affecting his life until his well-meaning family intercedes. His sisters have hired him a new personal assistant and he’s outraged—that is, until he sees who it is.

Autumn Minor is light on her feet and a bare memory for most people she meets. She does her best to blend in everywhere she lives, even if it’s only for a short period of time. Making sure no one truly notices her is the only way she’s survived this long. Only when she meets Griffin and the rest of the Montgomerys, she’s afraid she won’t be able to let go when its time to run.

Though the two begin a tentative but explosive relationship, they know it can’t last forever. Neither of them are made for the long haul when it comes to love and romance. When the demons from Autumn’s past find her and put both their lives at risk, Griffin will stop at nothing to protect her. In the end, though, he’ll be the one who needs a second chance.

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EXCERPT

The door opened with her hand in the air, hovering just off the door while she contemplated running back to her car and leaving Denver altogether. She blinked, her mouth going dry once again at the sight of him.

Griffin stood in the doorway, his hair disheveled as if he’d just woken up and hadn’t bothered to run his hands through it in an attempt to tame it. He also had lines from his pillow on his face, and his eyes were only partially open—the early morning light much too harsh for him.

Her gaze traveled down from his face to his bare chest and she had to force herself to not lick her rapidly drying lips. He had a sprinkling of hair on his torso—no over-manscaping for him—and ink on his pec, sides, and part of his neck. His washboard abs looked like he spent hours at the gym, yet not crazy like some of the overly muscled men looked. The deep V at his hips pointed to a nice happy trail that ended at the top of the jeans he’d left unbuttoned. From the look of him, he’d hastily put on a pair of pants to get to the door, but hadn’t bothered to button the fly…or put on underwear.

Was it getting hot out? She was pretty sure she could feel sweat roll down her back at the sight of him.

“You.” His voice was gruff, unused.

She shot her gaze to his face as he ran his hand over his beard. “Me.”

Oh, good. Articulate. Mature. Professional.

 

Carrie Ann Ryan Bio:

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Carrie Ann Ryan never thought she’d be a writer. Not really. No, she loved math and science and even went on to graduate school in chemistry. Yes, she read as a kid and devoured teen fiction and Harry Potter, but it wasn’t until someone handed her a romance book in her late teens that she realized that there was something out there just for her. When another author suggested she use the voices in her head for good and not evil, The Redwood Pack and all her other stories were born.

Carrie Ann is a bestselling author of over twenty novels and novellas and has so much more on her mind (and on her spreadsheets *grins*) that she isn’t planning on giving up her dream anytime soon.

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a Rafflecopter giveaway

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In the explosive new Hitman novel from the bestselling authors of

Last Kiss and Last Hit a jungle mercenary

and a female target find love on the run…

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LAST HOPE EXCERPT

Ava

I wake up with my face pressed against a warm, broad chest and my legs tangled in the leaves of a tree. Somewhere close by, I hear birds chirping. There’s sunlight dappling my face and everything feels damp.

Everything also hurts.

I’m dazed and my head is ringing with pain, and the sun is beaming right into my eyes, which is freaking annoying as hell. I rub a hand across my face and it takes me a few moments to realize that I shouldn’t see the sun at all if I’m inside an airplane.

Then I remember the storm. The thunderous boom as the plane was hit by lightning. Screams. The wing catching fire. The chaos of Afonso with his gun. Free-falling through the cabin, my grip on the seats the only thing keeping me from flying through six thousand feet of empty air.

Mendoza’s hand ripping out of mine when the cabin depressurized. The screams of people going silent.

Mendoza.

I remember him, too.

A noise from somewhere nearby catches my attention. It sounds like heavy breathing. I open my eyes and look around.

I’m still strapped to my seat. There’s a portion of the plane underneath me, and the two seats Mendoza and I buckled into are still together.

He’s next to me, the broad chest I’m currently draped across. His eyes are closed, dried, crusted blood around the injured one. He’s got an enormous bruise on his forehead and his arms are around me, as if he was trying to protect me even as we fell.

“Mendoza?” I ask, sitting upright and pulling out of his arms. Sitting up makes everything in my body scream with pain. My ankles hurt, but I don’t know if it’s because they’re seriously injured or because they were tucked under the seat in front of me, which is also still attached. I test my legs, untangling them from his longer ones, and wince at the pain shooting through my body. It feels like I’ve been trampled in my sleep. My ribs hurt, and my right arm radiates agony.

But . . . I’m alive. I sit up a bit straighter and look at my right arm. The purse I’ve carried for days is gone. The skin is puffy and turning purple. When I flex my fingers, the pain brings tears to my eyes. I look away from it, faint and sick to my stomach at the sight. It’s not just the pain but what it represents. I’m a hand model. I can’t do a thing if my hands are jacked up.

Not that it matters right now.

“Mendoza,” I say again, because I’m about to panic, and panic hard. “Wake up. Please.”

He doesn’t stir.

Fear clutches me, and I grab his shirt with my good hand and give him a shake. “Mendoza?”

That doesn’t wake him, either. I press my cheek to his chest and listen for a heartbeat.

It’s slow and steady. Whew. I sit up and examine him again. The knot on his forehead is huge. Maybe he just got knocked out. I’ll have to figure out how to wake him up once I figure out where we are. It looks like our section of the plane somehow separated from the rest of the wreckage, which is why we’re alive and not a skidmark on the ground.

I shift in my seat and the world tilts. My eyes go wide and I freeze in place, then look around.

I can see trees overhead, and sunshine, but it’s just now occurred to me that we’re not on the ground. The chairs are tilted and everything shakes when I move.

I’m pretty sure we’re in a tree. Clutching at the arm of the chair, I sit up carefully and look around.

I see nothing but air and leaves, green vines and dappled shadows. In the distance, I hear the sound like heavy breathing again. I look at Mendoza, but it’s not him. Oh God. Is it Afonso? Is he still here? Biting my lip, I crane my neck and try to peer down below. We’re at least twenty feet off the ground.

It’s like the wreckage has been swallowed up by a wall of green. Green and wet. On the jungle floor, there’s more greenery and what looks like smoking wreckage. Pieces of the plane are scattered all over the forest floor, along with a few scattered suitcases. In the distance I see another row of chairs, this one facedown in the dirt. The heavy breathing starts again, and this time I see the source: a jaguar, stalking through the wreckage.

My eyes widen and I go very still.

A heavy rain begins to fall, spattering me from above. I don’t move. My gaze is on that jungle cat as it sniffs through things. If it notices us, I don’t know what we’ll do. Mendoza is unconscious and if I try to move him, we might both fall out of the tree . . . and land right in front of the cat.

The situation hits me and I start to cry. I’m alone. I’m really fucking alone. I’ve never camped a day in my life, much less been in a jungle. I look down at my hands. They’re my livelihood. My way to earn a living. My income depends on them being soft and perfect, my nails elegant ovals.

I have a long gouge down the back of one hand, and my pinky is bruised and swollen. My wrist looks like an elephant’s leg, if elephants were black and blue. Not gonna be hand modeling for a long while after I get out of here.

If I get out of here.

I’m sorry, Rose. I’m trying. I’m trying so hard. I shudder back a sob as the cat slinks into the underbrush, something dangling and arm-sized in its mouth. I’m in the jungle with a busted hand and a stranger that just wants the information I’m carrying . . .

And I don’t even have the information anymore. The purse is gone. I sniff hard, trying to fight back another sob that’s threatening to break free.

“Don’t cry,” a voice says softly.

I turn and look at Mendoza. His shirt is sticking to his big body, wet raindrops splatting down his face. He looks at me and smiles crookedly, and lifts a hand to try to touch my face. “Don’t cry.”

Blurb

 

Mendoza: I grew up in the slums and lost everything I loved to poverty, illness, and death. I had only one skill to leverage myself out of my circumstances—violence. Being hired out as a mercenary hitman brought me money and built an empire. But all that I’ve fought for is in jeopardy. My next job: Steal secret information that could bring down world governments. Find my target. Destroy it. But then, I meet her.

 

Ava: Karma hates me. When my best friend Rose is kidnapped, I have no choice but to take a job as a mule for a pair of criminals intent on selling top-secret information to the highest bidder. I should have known that bad luck tends to cling, because the plane I’m on goes down. That I survived a crash-landing was a miracle. And so was being rescued by Rafe Mendoza—hot, sexy, dangerous. The thing is, he wants the information that I need to free Rose. I can’t let him have it, but I need his help. And I need to fight this crazy attraction for this mercenary with hungry eyes. Rose is depending on me, and I won’t let her down, no matter how appealing Rafe is.

Hitman Series Reading Order

Last Hit (bk 1)

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Last Breath (bk 2)

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Last Hit: Reloaded (bk 2.5)

Amazon US  *  Amazon UK  *  Barnes & Noble  *  Kobo  *  iBooks  *  GooglePlay

Last Kiss (bk 3)

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Last Hope (bk 4)  Pre-order

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Meet Jen & Jessica

 

Jen Frederick lives with her husband, child, and one rambunctious dog.  She’s been reading stories all her life but never imagined writing one of her own. Jen loves to hear from readers so drop her a line at jensfrederick@gmail.com.

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Author Jessica Claire

This is a pen name for Jill Myles.

Jill Myles has been an incurable romantic since childhood. She reads all the ‘naughty parts’ of books first, looks for a dirty joke in just about everything, and thinks to this day that the Little House on the Prairie books should have been steamier.

After devouring hundreds of paperback romances, mythology books, and archaeological tomes, she decided to write a few books of her own – stories with a wild adventure, sharp banter, and lots of super-sexy situations. She prefers her heroes alpha and half-dressed, her heroines witty, and she loves nothing more than watching them overcome adversity to fall into bed together.

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From New York Times bestselling author Penelope Ward, comes a new forbidden STANDALONE romance releasing September 21st!

PRE-ORDER  SINS OF SEVIN NOW!

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SINS OF SEVIN EXCERPT

Copyright © 2015 by Penelope Ward

 

As he gulped down the water, I watched his Adam’s apple moving up and down. I used the opportunity to glance over his sweaty body up close. The top of his underwear was sticking out of his jeans. The smell of him was intoxicating, a mix of cut wood, sweat and cologne. I thought about our talk the other night, how he’d confessed his sexual history. As much as it disturbed me, knowing he’d used that body to give a woman pleasure made me weak with desire. I could only imagine what that would feel like with him.

Elle would find out.

I was still looking down at his abs when he said, “Thank you.” My eyes immediately shot up to meet his incendiary stare.

He’d caught me checking him out.

“You’re welcome.”

His mouth curved into a smile as he handed me back the glass. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you much this week.”

“Yeah. I’ve been busy.”

“I have something for you,” he blurted out in a way that indicated he was anxiously waiting to say it.

“For me?”

“Yeah. Wait here, okay?”

Sevin ran over to where his truck was parked and grabbed something out of the open window.

He returned to where I was standing and handed me a CD.

“What is it?”

“If you like the Smiths, you’ll like some of the songs on here. I included a few Smiths songs—the ones from your favorite album, but there’s also The Lemonheads, The Pixies…and Pulp.”

“You made this?”

“Yeah. I made it for myself and burned you a copy.”

“Thanks.”

He looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Number ten is my favorite.” Then, he walked away.

I immediately took it back to my room and dusted off my old portable CD player.

Lying down on my bed with the sun streaming in, I drowned out the world and listened to every song. When it got to number ten, I paid special attention, knowing he’d specifically called that one out.

The name of the song was Like a Friend. I later found out it was by Pulp. With each lyric, my eyes became heavier until they welled up in tears. The words described to a tee exactly how I’d been feeling about him. The singer was shouting out all his feelings about his friend, that she was everything he shouldn’t want, everything that was bad for him, but yet he couldn’t stop wanting her. He’d take what he could get even if that just meant being friends. Every single line spoke to me. It was the first time I realized that maybe I wasn’t alone in my torment. This situation—whatever was happening between us—was taking a toll on him, too.

I must have listened to the song five times before I went over to the window and looked down at him. At one point, he finally looked up and noticed me. He squinted his eyes to see me through the glare of the sun. I still had my headphones on. He knew I had heard number ten. The look on his face when our eyes locked only confirmed that number ten wasn’t just a song. It was his way of speaking to me.

Blurb

What happens when the one you want is the only one you can’t have?

My name is Sevin.

Homeschooled and sheltered by my ultra-religious family, I was always taught that lust was a sin.

Elle was the girl who’d been carefully chosen for me.

After a long-distance courtship, I’d be moving into her family’s guesthouse so that we could get to know each other in the months before the wedding.

Boundaries were set: no inappropriate touching, no kissing, no sex before marriage.

I’d accepted those rules and my fate.

Until I met the one I wanted to sin with.

That was when restraint became a problem…especially since THE ONE wasn’t Elle.

It was her sister, Evangeline.

You know what they say about best laid plans.

My name is Sevin, and I have sinned.

Told in alternating points of view, Sins of Sevin is a full-length standalone novel. Contains graphic sexual content and harsh language. Only appropriate for adult readers age 18+.

Meet Penelope Ward

Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestselling author. She grew up in Boston with five older brothers and spent most of her twenties as a television news anchor, before switching to a more family-friendly career. She is the proud mother of a beautiful 10-year-old girl with autism and a 9-year-old boy. Penelope and her family reside in Rhode Island.

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Other books from Penelope Ward

Cocky Bastard

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Stepbrother Dearest

Amazon  **  B&N  **  iTunes  **  kobo

Gemini

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Jake Undone (Jake #1)

Amazon  **  B&N  **  iTunes  **  kobo

My Skylar

Amazon  **  B&N  **  iTunes  **  kobo

Jake Understood (Jake #2)

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Raven watched as William efficiently disrobed, neatly folding every article of black clothing (with the exception of underwear, which he never wore), and placing it on the vanity.

She brushed imaginary lint from her dress as he stood in front of her, naked.

He was under six feet in height, his body lean and strong. Raven took a moment to appreciate the definition of his muscled chest and abdomen, and the strong cast to his thighs.  Not even a statue carved by the most talented sculptor could create a being with so much perfection.

His face put her in mind of an angel with intense, gray eyes that now looked at her expectantly.

She hid her face.  “You said you loved me.”

“I did. What’s more, I meant it.”

“Love is a peculiar thing. I’ve seen it. I’ve even cheered for it. But I never believed it was for me.”

“Why shouldn’t a beautiful, fierce young woman hope for love?”

“Because, as you put it, human beings are shallow.”

“Love is deep.” His rich voice echoed in the bathroom.

“Love is having the power to destroy another person.”

William stepped closer.  “Are you afraid of being destroyed?”

“Destroyed, consumed, betrayed.” She fidgeted with the neckline of her gown.

William placed his hand over hers, stilling it.  “Love creates; it doesn’t destroy.”

His lips found the place where her neck met her shoulder. He kissed her leisurely, tracing the path of her bared collarbone with his mouth.

His fingers brushed her zipper.  “Let me.”

He undid her dress, dropping it to the marble tiles.

Her bra followed.  She was as naked as he.

His eyes roved her body appraisingly.  His pale fingers caressed her cheek, her mouth, and her neck. His strong hands cupped her breasts, her abdomen, and her hips.

His gray eyes met hers.

“The power you describe is the power you have here.” He touched her forehead before moving his hand to cover her heart.  “And here.  It’s the power you have over me. Power I haven’t yielded to another since I was human.”

He brought his lips to her ear. “Your fears are shared.”

With a slow kiss on her neck, he led her into the shower, standing behind her underneath a tropical rainfall showerhead.

Raven closed her eyes and lifted her face, like a flower following the sun.  The warm water soaked her hair and streamed down the generous curves of her body.

“I’ve never showered with another person.  What happens next?” William rested his hands on her shoulders.

She wiped the water from her face.

“Whatever you want. Just don’t let me fall.”

William’s gaze dropped to her right leg, which she was favoring.

“Is the pain terrible?”

“It’s worse after I’ve been lying down.  Sometimes I topple over.”

William spread his arm around her waist, drawing her back to his chest.  “Then I must be sure to catch you.”

She kissed him, reaching up to run her fingers through his wet hair as the water poured down their shoulders.

Her motions were fraught with an eagerness born of love and affection and the relief of remembering she hadn’t lost him.

He was hers.

Even now, naked, with a myriad of flaws few men overlooked, he embraced her. He embraced her imperfections.

He loved her.

His cool hands scorched her skin, splaying fingers wide over her abdomen and bringing her backside into contact with what rose between his hips.

She gave him her weight and he held firm, nipping and licking at her lips before enticing her to enter his mouth.

He entertained the intrusion for a moment or two then, with a growl, he spun her around, pressing their chests together.

Raven looked up into blazing gray eyes.

“Are you certain?”

She nodded.

“I need the words, Raven. I need to know you want this.”

“I want you.”

He took her mouth, his tongue alternately penetrating and retreating in a sensual rhythm.

She tilted her head, welcoming him, as the water continued to rain down.

Hands roamed over slick skin as their lower bodies came into alignment.  She touched his neck, his shoulders, his biceps, holding them tightly in an effort to remain upright.

William was not a tame lover.

In his arms, she sensed his control, his desire, and the war that waged between the two. But he’d never harmed her and had always focused his attention on giving pleasure before taking it. Usually more than once.

“You’re a dream,” she sighed.  “A dream of love I never thought I’d have.”

His eyes burned into hers.

Without warning, he lifted her, tugging her thighs around his hips.

He lowered his mouth to her breasts, tasting and teasing before sucking droplets of water from her eager flesh.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling him eager between her legs.

He lifted her higher, hands beneath her backside, making sure he was correctly aligned.

“Breathe,” he commanded, his eyes boring in to hers.

Here was the vampyre, proud and powerful, teetering on the edge of control. He bared his teeth as if on instinct and his chest rumbled.

“Just don’t break me,” she whispered, pushing a lock of blond hair from his forehead.

William’s expression grew even more fierce.

“I won’t break you.  Whatever harm I bring to you I vow to heal.”

He swallowed her reply with his kiss.  Then with a single thrust, he entered her.

His kisses were as fierce as his movements as he pushed inside and withdrew, over and over.  His grip on her backside tightened as he lifted and moved her in concert with his own motion.

Raven clung to him, her hand trailing to his lower back so she could urge him deeper.

Not that he needed the encouragement.

Her breasts brushed against his chest, the friction teasing and arousing.

She ignored the warm spray of the water, the scent of soap and William, and the nagging discomfort in her leg and ankle.  Her focus was on feeling as he brought her swiftly to the brink of orgasm.

Before she could signal how close she was, she climaxed, her hand clutching his neck as she threw her head back.

William continued his pace until she’d finished, his mouth dropping to her breasts, drawing one of them into his mouth.

When she opened her eyes, she found him staring at her hungrily.

“I have only begun,” he rasped.  “Breathe.”

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Excerpt #1

She stood behind him now with her lips parted and cheeks flushed, watching him stroke himself off like a hormonal teenager. It shouldn’t have made him hotter, not when he didn’t fully understand the problems she obviously had knocking around inside her beautiful head. He should stop now and make her explain, tell her she couldn’t touch him anymore until he knew what she was going through. But there wasn’t any turning back. Not right now, not with his cock heavy in his hand, ready to erupt.

In the mirror, he could see her fingers smoothing against each other, as if she were imagining what it would feel like to replace his hand with her own.

Jesus. He liked having her watch. If her expression had been any different, it might have been another story. The look of wonder, the renewal of arousal that transformed her as she came slowly closer, had him clenching his teeth to prolong the moment. Fuck, though, it hurt. The front of her panties were wet from riding him until she came. Her flat stomach peeked out under the edge of her shirt, reminding him once again how crazy he was to yank it up and see what she hid underneath. At the same time, she looked like an innocent who’d stumbled upon something very, very bad happening and God, it made him want to corrupt her even more. Sick. I’m sick. His balls drew up tight…the tingling began at the base of his spine…

“You should leave,” Connor grated, squeezing his eyes closed. Christ, any minute now…he couldn’t wait any longer. Looking at her, knowing he couldn’t touch her, was killing him. At the same time, his mind was projecting images in a desperate attempt to send him over the edge and find relief. Erin straddling his face, hands cuffed behind her back. Erin’s eyes going blind, ankles around her ears, as drove into her like a madman. “Go, Erin.”

He didn’t hear her move. One second she was standing at the door, the next she was standing on the rim of his bathtub, just beside his left shoulder. Closer. Her tits were eye level and it took every ounce of self-control inside him not to suck them into his mouth, right through her T-shirt. A tiny moan dropped from her lips as she leaned close, watching his hand work his stiff cock. She placed her open lips on his neck and dragged them higher, where she licked at his ear.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. Do it again.

“What feels right,” she whispered, stroking his fingers over his chest. “Tell me what you’re thinking about. Is it me?”

“Of course,” he shouted. “You don’t want to know any more than that.”

“Yes, I do.” She lightly scraped her fingernails down his back, and he growled. “I want to know what I’m missing out on. Tell me.”

 

 

Meet Ex- Navy Seal Connor in this unconventional romance!

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Blurb

Never start a fire you can’t control…

Connor Bannon is supposed to be dead. Dishonorably discharged from the Navy SEALs, he’s spent the last two years working as a street enforcer in Brooklyn for his cousin’s crime ring. Through a twist of fate, he’s now in Chicago, working undercover to bust criminals. But when a cute little arsonist joins the team-all combat boots, tiny jean shorts, and hot-pink hair-Connor’s notorious iron control slips.

Erin “she’s getting away” O’Dea knows two things. She hates authority. And… Nope, that’s it. When she’s forced to operate on the “right” side of the law, her fear of being confined and controlled blazes to the surface. The last thing she expects is a control freak like Connor to soothe her when she needs it most. Worse, something behind the sexy ex-soldier’s eyes ignites a dangerous inferno of desire. One that invites Erin to play with fire. And one that could get them both killed…

About the Author:

Thank you for your interest in my books! I’m Tessa and I live in the crazy, loud, overcrowded borough of Brooklyn, New York. I love it here. This city is a constant source of inspiration, which is why I’ve decided to set my most recent books in the Line of Duty Series here.

I moved to New York when I was eighteen, the day after I graduated high school. Threw my suitcase in the back of a Chevrolet Cavalier and drove across the country to find my adventure. I’m still finding it, little by little.​Thank you for being a part of it.

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