I’M A WHORE.
I screw men and get screwed for money,
living my life everyday as Jericho Lane.
My clientele list is immaculate.
I am sought out, demanded
and damn good at my job.
I don’t care that these men have families at home,
or that they are important people.
I do it for the money.
There is nothing that could make me
feel a bit of remorse or
concern about what I do because
I was born with the inability
to experience or feel emotions...
I don’t feel PAIN
I don’t feel SORROW.
I don’t feel extreme HAPPINESS or LOVE
I am VOID.
A blank canvas of emotions.
an empty hole in an endless sea of
circumstances, moods and relationships.
Until one client changes EVERYTHING.
Sinful Rewards 8 by Cynthia Sax Avon Impulse / On Sale February 17th / ISBN: 9780062354242
Bee Carter is no longer torn between her handsome billionaire and her tattooed bad-boy biker. After enjoying mind-melting, world-tilting sex and experiencing the pleasure of waking in her man's arms, she has finally made her choice.
Or has she?
A violent early morning confrontation pits biker against billionaire and results in a shocking proposal: the discarded man is willing to overlook Bee's wild night with his rival in order to win her love. He will sacrifice his pride, his heart, and everything he holds dear to have her.
Bee is unmoved by the offer … until the man she's chosen encourages her to accept.
Now Bee is yet again faced with an impossible decision: Does she pursue the man she craves, who has rejected her love, or does she settle for the man who will do anything for her? Excerpt:
We’re one, linked by our desire. I guide his shaft to my empty entrance, moan into his throat as he pushes inside me, stretching me tight. He’s so damn large, his cock as massive as the rest of him, and, if I hadn’t taken him last night, I’d be concerned.
But this is our second fuck and I’m fearless, lifting my hips, speeding the long, slow glide of rigid shaft into warm, wet pussy. In Hawke’s brilliant blue eyes I see a reflection of my own wonder, my own joy. This experience is as unique for him as it is for me, energy flowing from his body to mine and back again, a continuous loop growing stronger and stronger.
Finally, my pussy lips touch the curls at his base. “Fuck,” he mutters, this one word encompassing my feelings. “You’re perfect, love.”
When I’m with him, I am perfect and I belong, my curves meshing with his muscle, my smaller body fitting into his larger physique. Hawke pulls back and surges forward and I gasp, gripping his shoulders, a ripple of pleasure flowing over me.
He retreats and advances, retreats and advances, his rhythm constant and too controlled for my liking. I want him to be as wild for me as I am for him. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I kick my heels into his clenched ass cheeks.
Hawke jerks, growls words I can’t decipher, and pushes back, taking me harder, deeper. I laugh, exhilarated by his reaction, and rise up to meet him, clenching my inner walls around his shaft, shredding his restraint even more. His lips flatten into a determined white line as we battle for dominance, driving each other insane with desire.
Sweat beads on our skin, slicking our bodies and darkening Hawke’s tattoos, making us one. I pant, he grunts, and the bed rocks, the sounds of our lust echoing in my ears, exciting me.
As he thrusts into me, I lick his chin, his stubble scraping my tongue, the salt of his efforts filling my mouth. He shudders, his shaft swelling inside me, his balls hugging his body, and the pulse of need within me grows, a tempo I can’t ignore.
“Hawke.” I dig my fingernails into his shoulders, trying to delay my release.
“No . . . curtains,” he huffs, his hot breath blowing over my cheeks. His biceps bulge as he braces himself above me. His chest flattens my breasts. “Watching . . . us.”
He knows what to say to drive me wild.
CYNTHIA SAX lives in a world filled with magic and romance. Although her heroes may not always say “I love you,” they will do anything for the women they adore. They live passionately. They play hard. They love the same women forever.
Cynthia has loved the same wonderful man forever. Her supportive hubby offers himself up to the joys and pains of research, while they travel the world together, meeting fascinating people and finding inspiration in exotic places such as Istanbul, Bali, and Chicago.
Please visit her on the web at www.CynthiaSax.com
BUY LINKS Amazon
/ Barnes & Noble Sinful Rewards 9
will be on-sale March 17th
For Jayceon Ashworth, he's lucky to make it through the day without the torment and aggravation. Pushing aside the taunting, he focuses on football and art until Seona Fisher crashes into his life.
Seona Fisher gets a second chance. Moving to College Station, Texas to be with her brother, Travis, is something she needs to escape the demons of her past. Starting over is never easy. Letting go of old habits is hard, but seeing his green eyes changes her world.
A friendship turns into them both wanting one another, and neither of them able to fight their feelings. But when the demons of darkness come back, Seona has to find her way through and back into Jayceon's arms.
Senior year is the end of an era; the year you prepare yourself to start a new journey. A time to spend with friends you may not see much after graduation. Then again, that’s what senior year is supposed to be. For me, it’s just a countdown to the day I can walk away and never look back.
When I started high school, I had high hopes. Playing football, having friends, going to parties and for the first two years, that’s exactly what happened. Then one night, I tried to do the right thing, and it all blew up in my face. Since then, high school has been a big pain in the ass. A place I dread going, full of bullies and rumors. The sooner it’s over, the better for me.
Another typical day at school and the hallways are crowded as usual, signaling my least favorite time of day. Since being on the football team as the starting wide receiver, things at school became a little harder than before. I’m not liked very much on the team, but some of the bullying stopped. The team hated me, besides Brendan, but even he is cautious with his friendship. In the classrooms they leave me alone, not wanting to deal with the teachers or the consequences. What’s the point of getting caught, when the hallway is jam packed and it’s easier to torture people, especially when there are too many people to see what’s happening?
On the way to my locker, I feel a hand curl around my arm and stop me.
Finding Fisher is a short novel about love, lies, loyalty and what it means to be truly alive.
Franklin Smith was the perfect fiancé. He was at the top of our class at Stanford and had been recently accepted to Harvard Law. But Spring Break our senior year of college changed everything. He went back home to New Jersey and never returned. At his funeral I discovered a guy I never knew. His secret past. And a twin brother, Fisher, I didn’t know existed.
Author’s Note: When I learned about the tragic death of cover model Josh Nicholson and saw the wonderful photos that Eric McKinney of 6:12 Photography had taken of Josh I just knew I had to write a book in his memory. This is the novel that Joshua Scott Nicholson inspired.
A portion of the profits from the cover and book sales will be donated to Joining Hearts, Inc., a 501(c)(3), all-volunteer, non-profit organization dedicated to providing housing support to people living with HIV and AIDS in Atlanta, in memory of Josh.
When I phoned information they gave me an address for Sherry Smith in Old Town. Heading down a long, windy semi-paved dirt road I’m just thankful I have a rental and not the luxury car my parents purchased for me for my twenty-first birthday.
I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face when I see a run-down double-wide at the end of the driveway. The house, if you can call it that, has definitely seen better days. And those days weren’t in this century. The place is surrounded by old trucks in various states of disrepair along with piles of engine parts everywhere.
After I park the little Hyundai I hop out and stretch my long legs. I normally don’t do well in compacts, even with the seat back as far as it will go. This car is no exception.
As I look around for signs of life all I see are a few mangy-looking stray cats milling about, no doubt searching for rats or other varmints who will serve as their next meals.
Then I hear the faint sound of tapping. Followed by an “Oh, No!”
I guess it’s not just me and the cats here. I head toward the area from where the exclamation emanated.
An old truck that looks like it hasn’t been driven since the 1950s is behind another truck maybe from the 1970s.
There’s a man with the entire top half of his body underneath the hood of the older truck, obviously trying to fix it. All that’s visible as I approach is his bottom half, in tight-fitting Denim and black work boots.
I clear my throat, hoping to get his attention, but I get a rather annoyed “Just a minute” instead.
After sixty-two seconds pass I clear my throat again. “It’s been over a minute. Sixty-three seconds to be exact.”
He laughs. One that sounds familiar. Too familiar. His laugh sounds just like Franklin’s. A shiver runs through my entire body in response.
When he extricates himself from the hood of the car and turns toward me my knees buckle and I nearly faint.
The man grabs me just before I hit the dirt. Once he has me upright I notice that the brand new white silk shirt I’m wearing is now covered in grease.
“This can’t be happening,” I utter as I try to remember if grease can be removed from silk.
I quickly remove my stash of sanitizer wipes from my pocketbook and get to work trying to remove some of the grease from my shirt.
“I don’t think that’s going to work,” the man says.
He looks just like Franklin, but a disgustingly filthy version of my fiancé. Every inch of the guy is covered in grease and dirt. It’s like my worst nightmare come to life.
One of the few things I hate more than being disorganized is being dirty. I will do almost anything to avoid becoming soiled in any way.
The guy’s eyes search mine as if he’s trying to figure out what I’m doing standing in front of his old truck in the middle of nowhere New Jersey.
“Here,” I say as I hand him two of my sanitizer wipes to clean his grimy hands.
“That’s not going to work either.”
I hand him one additional wipe. “Better?”
He shakes his head. “Not really. I have special grease remover in the house. My hands are never completely clean, but I’m used to it. I’ve been a mechanic all my life.”
“Your voice,” I mutter. “You sound just like him. You look like him too. It’s unbelievable.”
“I should. He’s—um—was—my twin brother.”
I feel my stomach start to knot. “He told me he was an only child.”
The guy lets out a cynical laugh. “I’m not surprised. When he left Old Town he left all of us behind. A hot shot lawyer and fancy politician doesn’t need a twin brother whose a mechanic hanging around his neck. Better not to have a brother at all, I suppose.”
“He really is gone?” My voice cracks again. It’s starting to get annoying.
“He was gone a long time ago. When he left for Stanford he didn’t look back. But he is dead, if that’s what you mean.”
His face looks pained. Grubby and wounded.
As it finally starts to sink in that Franklin, my Franklin, really is gone. I can feel my entire body start to shake. And before I know what’s hit me I’m crying.
Me, Chloe Woodford, the girl who never shows any emotion, is blubbering like a child. “I just—don’t—understand—it,” I say between snivels.
“What?” Franklin’s brother whispers.
“Any of it.”
“Can you tell me what you’re doing here?”
I hold up my left hand, hoping he’ll take note of the 1.2 carat diamond engagement ring that Franklin bought me.
“Nice rock. So you’re rich. I figured that out before you flashed the bling. But it still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”
“Franklin is—um—was my fiancé.” I try to speak with as much dignity as I can muster, but the words still feel like they’re getting caught in my throat.
When he slams the hood of the truck closed I nearly jump out of my skin. I’m raw and on edge and the loud noise sends me reeling.
“I should have known.” He waves a hand up and down my body. “You fit every requirement he could ever want in a trophy wife. A tall, beautiful blonde. Model thin, but still has a nice rack. Your family obviously has money. And you go to Stanford, right? So you’re not dumb. You’re the perfect package. You would have made the ideal politician’s wife.”
“You’re not a very nice person,” is nearly all I can manage to say. “I lost my fiancé.”
“And I lost my twin brother. So what’s your point? There’s no law that says I have to be nice.”
I’m not sure what to do. I don’t like Franklin’s brother. I really don’t want to be around him and his filth, but I’m not sure I have any other options. I need answers and at least he’s giving me some, even if I don’t like the message or the messenger.
My mother is a shark is sheep’s clothing. And she always told me you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar. That might be a cliché, but I’ve always found it to be true. I decide to up the charm a few notches to see if I can entice Franklin’s brother to tell me more.
“So you’re a mechanic?” I bat my big blue eyes at him. “Do you work at a garage?”
“This is it.” He motions around the yard, which looks more like a junkyard. “I’m a mobile mechanic.”
“I’ve never heard of that.”
He removes a business card from the front pocket of his jeans and hands it to me. I try to take it in such a way that I don’t have to touch the grease stained fingerprints all over the outer edge.
“Are you afraid of getting dirty?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“You seem to have an aversion to it.”
“I don’t like it. I wouldn’t say I’m afraid of it.”
I examine the card: Fisher Smith, Mobile Mechanic and then a phone number.
“I’m Chloe Woodford, by the way, in case you’re interested.”
He just nods. And doesn’t really give me a clue whether he’s interested in knowing anything about me or not. But I soldier on because there are a lot of things I still want to know about Franklin. And in order for me to get the information I want I need to try to warm Mr. Iceman up a little bit.
“So do you drive around and fix people’s cars?”
He laughs. “That’s a small part of my business. The local sheriff is a buddy of mine. He refers anyone who breaks down on the side of the road. I work with local farmers, who need help with old trucks or even tractors or farm equipment. I also work on dirt bikes, race bikes, ATVs. If it has an engine I can fix it.”
Holding up the card I ask, “How’d you get the name Fisher?”
“My dad loved to fish. It was one of his favorite pastimes.”
“He doesn’t fish anymore?”
He shakes his head. “He died when Franklin and I were twelve. I guess he never told you that either.”
“Nope. How did he die? He must have been pretty young.” As soon as I ask the question I immediately regret it. Especially when I see the look on Fisher’s face.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just…”
“Franklin didn’t tell you much, did he?”
I let out a single, cold laugh. “He told me a lot. I’m just realizing that most of it wasn’t true. Your dad didn’t work on Wall Street either, did he?”
Now Fisher is the one who laughs. “Is that what he told you? Dad was a mechanic. Taught me everything I know.”
“What about your mom?” I ask.
“Mom started working at the local deli after my dad died. She’s been there ten years now. She works the breakfast and lunch shifts mostly. They’re known for their Taylor ham sandwiches. Best in the county. She’ll be back soon. Then I’ll be on the road. I’ve got to help Randy Barnes get his Jeep ready for race season.”
I had no idea that people raced Jeeps, but I keep that to myself. He seems to take it for granted that it’s common knowledge.
“Maybe I’d better go before she gets back.”
“Why?” For the first time since I arrived he actually sounds like he wants to talk to me.
“I phoned Franklin’s cellphone when he didn’t make it back to Stanford. Your mom answered and didn’t seem very happy to hear from me.”
“She’s been going through a lot the last few years. And losing her golden boy didn’t help. We have no idea what’s going to happen with Jackson. She’ll most likely get full custody. Not that she didn’t have him a lot anyway, but now it will be 24-7 thing.”
My stomach knots as I ask the next question. “Who’s Jackson?”
The smallest of smiles appears on his face. “My brother was full of secrets, wasn’t he? Come on.”
Paisley Morro has been in love with Eli since she was thirteen years old. But being his best friend and wingman, while keeping her feelings under wraps, has grown more difficult with every passing year and every new woman in his life. After twelve years, Paisley is tired of the constant heartache and has finally decided it's time to lay all her feelings on the table. Eli Jenkins has the life: his dream job, countless beautiful women, and a best friend who's the one he counts on for everything else. One conversation, however, threatens to not only change everything between them, but possibly cause Eli to lose the only girl who has ever meant anything to him.
When a family tragedy forces Eli to take a hard look at his life, he realizes life without Paisley isn't a life at all. Only now, he may be too late. Excerpt:
Oh the joys of watching the man you love get ready to take another woman home … especially when she’s one bad dye job away from being an Oompa-Loompa. Here’s a little snippet from CHANGING EVERYTHING for y’all! Enjoy! “Pay!” “Oh no,” I breathed, and looked at Kristen to act like I hadn’t heard Eli. “If he makes me play pool with him while he makes out with another girl again
, I will lose it!” “He’s smiling, at least he didn’t see you moping—and he’s walking over here. With her. Right now. He’s—” “Pay, we’re gonna head out, were you ready to leave?” I turned to look at them with a smile plastered on my face, but it was entirely possible I looked like I was grimacing. “Well … ” I began, but the girl in Eli’s arms held up her hand. She made a sickened face as her head jerked up to look at Eli, then back at me. Long seconds passed as she looked me up and down with her lips parted in disgust. “Um
… ew! I’m, like, not really into that whole threesome thing. So
gross. Yano?” I wanted to remind her that “you” and “know” were two separate words … but with the way she looked, I was surprised she knew that Eli plus her plus me equaled three and not the color burrito, so I kept that to myself. Eli’s face pinched together like he’d eaten something sour, and before he said something that would inevitably crush me even more tonight, I tried to speak his latest pick’s language. “Ohmigod, like, ew, right?” Kristen’s hand flew to her mouth as beer sprayed out, and Eli’s lack-of-amused expression let me know that he knew what I was doing. At least I didn’t feel like I was going to throw up anymore. “Threesomes are so way gross,” I continued, not like I’d know. But the girl nodded her head and pursed her lips. “So, like, is she gonna watch?” she asked, and it took everything in me not to shoot Eli a look that said: Really?
This is what you want?-
Molly McAdams, Changing Everything
Molly’s next book will be Trusting Liam: A Taking Chances and Forgiving Lies Novel, available on June
Molly McAdams grew up in California but now lives in the oh-so-amazing state of Texas with her husband and four-legged daughters. Her hobbies include hiking, snowboarding, traveling and long walks on the beach, which roughly translates to being a homebody with her hubby and dishing out movie quotes. When she's not at work, she can be found hiding out in her bedroom surrounded by her laptop, cell, Kindle and fighting over the TV remote. She has a weakness for crude-humored movies, fried pickles and loves curling up in a fluffy comforter during a thunderstorm.
Connect with Molly: Facebook
Beverly Preston writes the perfect romance hero: sexy-as-hell good guys, the kind you want to screw your brains out and put a ring on your finger.
Meet the men of The Mathews Family in this sexy, romantic box set!
Beverly Preston writes the perfect romance hero: sexy-as-hell good guys, the kind you want to screw your brains out and put a ring on your finger.”
Sinfully sexy, emotionally rich contemporary romance series! Stunning love stories set in exotic destinations such as Bora Bora, Greece, Italy and more. Laugh, cry and fall in love with The Mathews Family one Happily Ever After at a time: with a Hollywood A-list actor, a sexy contractor, an Italian winemaker, and a dream-come-true architect.
Seconds after hearing the click of the front door shutting, his mouth was at her ear. His fingers slipped beneath the straps on her shoulder, lifting the dress above her head and tossing it on the end of the bed.
Spikes of sensual energy gathered between them. Reed nuzzled the rasp of his stubble into the sensitive spot on her neck and her skin came to life beneath his firm yet gentle touch. Tremors chased down her spine and desire ached between her thighs. Never in her life had JC been so completely in tune with the bodily forces filling her physically and emotionally.
A slight giggle dissolved into a soft gasp as one arm crossed beneath her breast, pulling her closer. Gooseflesh covered her body as his lips traversed the slope of her neck and shoulder, revisiting receptive areas he’d pursued the night before.
“I don’t understand,” she murmured. Reed pressed the shape of him, rearing and stiff, against the small of her back. Her head listed back against his chest, followed a soft ambiguous cry of need. “How do you do that to me?”
He turned her to face him, cupping the tender curve of her breast. “Darlin’, in few minutes, you’re not gonna give a damn.”
Heat spread everywhere, engulfing her senses in flames of desire. Draping her wrists over his shoulder, she raised on her tippy-toes, searching for his lips. Reed resisted her fervent urges, pulling back, not allowing her the passionate kiss she yearned for. He stared into her eyes, capturing her spirit with his ice blue eyes. Zings of pleasure chased though her and JC feared she might melt before they even started.
Unspoken words drifted between them.
Reed’s unconditional acceptance disarmed her. He accepted her commitment phobias, occasional neurotic tendencies, her fears of love, her mishaps in life and bad judgments. He understood her implicitly and appreciated her exactly as she was.
Her heart pounded. Excitement and nervousness mingled through her emotions. Her eyes drifted shut as she leaned into his chest and his hands played over her slowly, tortuously igniting a new passion within. She quivered and stumbled, falling onto the chaise behind her.
He started toward her hungrily, but she shook her head.
“No?” he asked with a questioning grin.
“No.” She shook her head again. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured this. You make me too damn nervous.” She pointed toward the bathroom. “Can you please give me two minutes?”
He bent, securing her to the hide with his thigh between her legs, possessing her mouth with long, intimate licks of his tongue. “I’ll give you three,” he assured, releasing her from his kiss and sauntering into the bathroom.
JC leapt to her feet, pacing in circles in nothing more than her white cheeky panties. “What the hell is wrong with me?” Stopping midstride, she shook out her trembling limbs. “You can do this! Pull yourself together.”
She took a few deep breaths, trying to ward off the tension looming close the surface of her thoughts. Her limbs felt weighted and encumbering, restricting her body from its natural rhythmic flow of sensual language. He’s just a man. I’ve kissed dozens of men! You’ve already had sex with him. Don’t be chicken!
She bent over, tousling her hair through her fingers and flipped her head back, letting the long caramel layers cascade down her back in sexy loose pieces.
JC plopped onto the chaise, strumming her fingers on the hide. Yeah, but damn what a man!
Nestling back into the hide, she draped her hands above her head. Unable to find the right position, she fidgeted awkwardly. “This is not comfortable,” she grumbled. “Oh, my God. What is wrong with me?”
Irritated by her own anxiety and gracelessness, she flopped to the opposite end of the chaise. Her long legs and feet dangled over the arched back and her head hung over the foot of the lounge.
Sunbeams pushing through the glass door swept across her body. Her eyes drifted shut and she drew in a deep, full breath of air and then another. The scent of his skin lingered with the warmth of the sun, caressing her senses and calming her nerves.
She startled when Reed gently placed his hand on the outside of her thigh. His naked hip brushed against her skin when he sat beside her. Her eyes remained closed as the coolness from his hand slid along her waist to her breast, resting on top of her heart.
“I know…” she panted breathily. JC placed her hand over his. “Just feel you in here.”
“That’s right, darlin’”
“I don’t know why you make me so nervous.”
Feeling his avid stare burning through closed lids and the weight of his hand dip to her breast, she slipped her tongue across her lips sensually.
“You make me nervous too,”—his breath fractured—“JC.”
Her eyes opened when he called her by name.
“We’ll figure it out together.”
Feelings of passion and adoration flourished, stringing tightly around her heart. She nodded.
“Goddess,” he hummed, wiggling his brow. The back of his hand traced lazily over her jaw and earlobe. He leaned closer, nearly kissing her before halting. “You’re beautiful. Inside and out.”
#1 Bestselling Author, Beverly Preston has been a stay at home mom for 21 years, although she prefers the title Domestic Engineer. Along the way, Beverly worked side by side with her husband Don, the love of her life, designing, building and selling custom homes. As her children begin to venture out on their own, she’s left to shed a tear—for a minute—wonder what’s next in life, and embrace the feeling of empowerment that surely must’ve been wrapped in a present she received on her fortieth birthday. If Beverly isn’t at home riding her spin bike, you’ll find her spinning richly emotional and sinfully sexy romance stories. Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Pinterest
I had a simple life.
I worked two jobs, made ends meet, and hung out with my mom and twin brother. The other part of my life was about avoiding him, but when SWAT raided my boyfriend’s home, that was the last straw. The boyfriend got tossed and to help me keep busy, my brother talked me into joining their old band again, but I had to be honest. It wasn’t a hard sell. Playing drums was in my blood. I used to be addicted and that craving hadn’t been satisfied in three long years. The only problem was their lead singer.
It was him.
The drums might not have been the only thing I was addicted to. I think I was still addicted to him too.
Excerpt: (Bri's pov)
Luke hit a jarring note on his guitar below, drawing me from the past and back to reality. Seriously. I’d been ready to take on two thugs beside a dumpster for my stupid-ass cousin, but this had ice filling my veins.
I rolled my eyes upward. What was wrong with me?
The melody was addictive. I felt it reach deep inside me and take root. My breathing wavered as he kept playing. He moved down a chord, and the sound of it seeped into me, smoothing out the haunted memories. Then he began singing. His voice was soft and low, but I could hear it as if I were in the room. He was weaving a spell. It was like he threw a spear that had a rope attached to it at me from a hundred yards away, and it embedded deep into my stomach. Then he began pulling on it. I couldn’t fight because it would yank out my insides, but damn, I didn’t want to go with it. This whole thing with Luke was both painful and exhilarating at the same time. I had two urges going through me at once. One was to crap my pants, and the other was to start doing cartwheels.
I was just messed up, which is why I started down the stairs. I still had no clue what to say, but I had to do something.
He was hunched over the guitar in his lap with a beer at his feet. His eyes were closed, and his head hung over the guitar as he hit another chord, his thumb beating out the base. Since he was only wearing jeans, I saw some of the scars on his back. A storm of regret, shame, and longing all swirled inside me. I wanted to go to him, run my hands over those scars, and make them disappear. I couldn’t, though. We weren’t close anymore.
So many ghosts within you
So many haunts to pull you away
You look, I reach out and there’s nothing to do
They take you from me again, far away
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t take your hand
He kept singing, and my heart felt like it was splitting into two, but then he faltered. His eyes opened, and he looked up. He didn’t stop playing, but he stopped singing.
I felt like he was strumming me. I couldn’t look away from his gaze. His thumb stopped hitting the bass, and his fingers slowed on the guitar. “What are you doing here?”
Right. I was pretty sure I was seeing lust in his eyes. With that thought, a fever took over my blood, heating me up. “I,” my tongue wet my lips, “um, I’m here to talk about you and me.”
His gaze clouded over, and his eyelids lowered. He bent his head back over his guitar, but he didn’t start strumming again. “There is no ‘you and me.’ You’re in the band. That’s it.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Luke,” I started.
“No.” He stood up abruptly, setting his guitar to the side. He advanced toward me, his eyes were smoldering.
When my back hit the wall, I realized I had nowhere else to go and could only watch as he closed in on me. A part of me wanted him to keep getting closer; the other part of me was still thinking about crapping my pants.
He leaned a hand against the wall beside my head, keeping a few inches between us. His eyes were hard as he said, “There is no you and me. That died long ago, remember?”
Author Information I didn't begin writing until after undergraduate college. There'd been storylines and characters in my head all my life, but it came to a boiling point one day and I HAD to get them out of me. So the computer was booted up and I FINALLY felt it click. Writing is what I needed to do. After that, I had to teach myself how to write. I can't blame my teachers for not teaching me all those years in school. It was my fault. I was one of the students that was wishing I was anywhere but at school! So after that day, it took me lots of work until I was able to put together something that resembled a novel. I'm hoping I got it right since someone must be reading this profile! And I hope you keep enjoying
my future stories.
Stalk Her: Facebook | Twitter | Website | Goodreads
The Darkness Series - Book One
Author: Cassia Brightmore
Release Date: March 2nd, 2015
Hosted by Book Empire Promotions
Darkness has a seductive power, a delicious energy that sinks its claws in deep. Once the devil has a hold of you, true malevolence is born.
Sheriff Brady James has sworn to protect the small town of Durham Heights, his current priority to ruthlessly hunt a sadistic killer on the loose. With lives at stake, his focus is split between two beautiful women - one dark, one light. The clock is ticking, the threat palpable; crawling closer at every turn. Once death has you in its sights, there is no escape.
Pain. Suffering. Lives shattered and broken. In the fight of good against evil, who will survive?
This is the first book in the Darkness series, a wishing evil upon others novel that can be read as a standalone.
Due to mature content and violent situations, this book is recommended for readers 18 years and up.
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Looking into his eyes, she was terrified by what she saw there. There was no soul in him, he truly was a man with no morals, no compassion. His grin was filled with malice, there was no mistaking his intentions. Why the hell had she been so stupid to fall for his act? Fuck Hailey, one smile. One smile from him and look where it got you. Strung up on a hook like a motherfucking piece of meat!
“Darlin, just look at you. Quite the perfect picture you make. Why, you look like a feast. My feast.” At his words, Hailey froze, halting in her attempts to swing herself off the hook her bounds hands were attached to.
“Feast? I’m not your fucking feast, you asshole! Let me down from here,” her protests fell on deaf ears. Ignoring her pleas, he slowly approached.
Leaning in close, he brought his nose within an inch of hers. Close enough to touch, however he just breathed in her scent, staring into her eyes menacingly. “Get away from me, you prick. If you touch me, I swear, I’ll reach down your throat grab your balls and yank them up through your nose. Do. Not. Touch. Me!” Jerking away, she glared at him with fire in her eyes. He looked amused by her outburst, not the least bit frightened or intimidated.
“Sugar, there’s an expression...maybe you’ve heard it. Makes your blood run cold. You know, I’ve been on a mission, trying to find cold blood that runs out from a warm body.” Frowning, he turned the knife over in his hands, studying the blade. “Unfortunately, I haven’t had much luck. But you,” he pointed at her with the knife. “You might be the one I’ve been looking for. Let’s find out shall we?”
My name is Cale Kinley and I’m a fucking Virgin…
Well, with the exception of my tongue. The countless things I can do with my tongue are bound to leave you breathless and begging for more, but more… is something that I can’t give. It’s a choice. My choice.
There’s a reason for that. A very good reason, and that reason is her.
She’s the only woman that I want to bury myself deep in. The one woman I have wanted since I was old enough to fuck.
I never got my chance though, because she left. She had no choice and it stung like hell. But I couldn’t let her leave without telling her how I felt. I wanted her to be my first and I didn’t give a shit how long I’d have to wait.
It’s been six years and now she’s back and sexier than all hell. Just the sight of her stops my damn heart from beating. I want her and for more than just having her as my first.
I’m determined to have her in every way possible. She thinks this is still a game; that I’ve already given myself to countless women. What she doesn’t know is that I have a lot of willpower.
When I want something as badly as I want her, I don’t let shit stand in my way. I’m going to prove that to her. There’s just one little problem I need to take care of…
Cover designed by CT Cover Creations: https://www.facebook.com/CTcovercreations Author Information:
Victoria Ashley grew up in Rockford, IL and has had a passion for reading for as long as she can remember. After finding a reading app where it allowed readers to upload their own stories, she gave it a shot and writing became her passion.
She lives for a good romance book with tattooed bad boys that are just highly misunderstood and is not afraid to be caught crying during a good read. When she’s not reading or writing about bad boys, you can find her watching her favorites shows such as Sons Of Anarchy, Dexter and True Blood.
She is the author of Wake Up Call, This Regret, Slade, Hemy, and Get Off on the Pain. Victoria is currently working on more releases for 2015.
Victoria’s Facebook Page à http://goo.gl/mkzRHN
Wanting to Forget - A Jordie Thomas Tale Author:
Toni Aleo Release Date:
March 17, 2015 Click here to Pre-Order
Jordie Thomas is looking for something to take his mind off of the woman he let go—or rather, pushed away—and the terrifying prospect of what will happen if his broken leg doesn’t heal. He’s ready to get back to his family and fellow teammates on the Nashville Assassins and get back onto the ice. However, with his injured leg in the way and his mind clouded by a certain woman, he needs a break that’ll help clear his head and his heart. With New Orleans in his sights, can this player—on and off the ice—find a way to get back to the crazy and reckless life he used to live? Find out and follow along as author Toni Also takes readers on one wild journey in this Assassins novella.
Night Shift Anthology releases on March 17, 2015. 6 NEW novellas from Toni Aleo, Kindle Alexander,
Sawyer Bennett, Chelle Bliss, Eden Butler, and Brenda Rothert.
100% of the proceeds will be donated to the Keith Milano Memorial Fund,
PanCan.org, and the Nashville Predators Foundation.
Toni Aleo is the author of the Assassins Series, Bullies Series, Whiskey Prince, Let it be Me, and the Spring Grove novels. She lives in Clarksville, TN with her husband, and two beautiful children. She enjoys taking pictures, writing, shopping and going to as many hockey games that she can! Follow Toni on Twitter Follow Toni on Facebook