Excerpt Reveal: Preppy Part 3: The Life And Death of Samuel Clearwater by T. M. Frazier

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Preppy, Part Three: The Life and Death of Samuel Clearwater by T.M. Frazier is coming April 26th!!!

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Preppy, Part Three: The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater by T.M. Frazier

Release Date: April 26th, 2017
Genre: Contemporary Romance

The bowtie is BACK!

Dre was just a beautiful stranger when Preppy saved her the first time around. Now, he has to save her again, but she’s no longer some stranger, she’s family, and he has no idea who or what he’s up against.

What he does know is that putting his family back together is the only acceptable outcome.

Preppy’s to-do list?

SAVE FAMILY. SEEK REVENGE.

He’s alive…and he’s out for BLOOD.

Preppy Part Three is the third book and conclusion of Preppy and Dre’s story. It’s also the 7th book in the King Series, which should be read in order starting with KING & TYRANT.

Excerpt:

Preppy placed his other hand behind my neck, pulling me closer. “Dre, when I look at you, when I touch you. I love you so much it fucking HURTS,” he said against my neck, the vibration of his words had my nipples standing at firm attention all over again.

“I don’t want you to hurt,” I said, although I knew exactly what he meant because I felt the same. I had so much love for him it made my chest swell to the point where I thought I might break inside. Preppy looked down between us to where his swollen cock bobbed with his every move. The head thick and purple, throbbing and glistening at the tip, dripping with his own need. “No, Doc, it hurts, but it’s the best kind of pain.” Preppy’s eyes were half-lidded. A devilish smirk played on his lips. “Look, it hurts so bad even my cock is crying.”

I returned his smile, looking up at him through my lashes. I licked my lips. Preppy groaned, placing his hands on both sides of my head, running his fingers through my hair. I pushed him to his back and crawled down his body, giving a quick lick to the tip of his cock, which pulsed in response. I watched his expression darken as he watched me kiss and lick my way around his thick shaft. “Fuck,” he cursed. “What are you doing to me, woman?”

“If your cock’s crying, then I’m licking the tears away,” I said, taking the head into my mouth and swirling my tongue around to taste his salty pre-cum. I moaned, the sound shot straight between my legs.

Preppy dug his hands into my hair deeper, pulling, holding me with more force. His abs flexed as I took more and more of him into my mouth, lightly sucking as I circled my lips around the soft skin of his extremely hard shaft.

I pulled back and softly blew on his wet cock. All the muscles in his arms tensed. His hips bucked into the air. His mouth fell open as he gazed down at me with a lust filled expression I know mirrored my own. “Any better?” I asked, wrapping my hand around the base of his shaft.

Preppy shook his head. “No, not better. I think it’s fucking worse,” he ground out, looking as if he were in pain.

“How so?” I asked, stroking him from root to tip with a slight twist at the top.

Preppy hissed. “Because I want to fuck you again, but now I also don’t ever want my cock to be anywhere besides that beautiful mouth ever again. Those fucking red lips. Jesus fucking Christ, Doc. I thought I’d already died, but you’re the one killing me.”

“You mean like this?” I asked, taking him into my mouth again. Further this time. Preppy had a monster cock and although I used to think he was joking when he said that it was the honest truth. There was no way I’d be able to take all of him but I did the best I could, taking him until the tip of his cock hit the back of my throat. Giving him all I could because I wanted to make him feel as good as he made me feel.

“Holy fucking, shit,” Preppy groaned, holding onto the ground for support with one hand, the other still fisted in my hair. The next few sentences that came out of his mouth were incoherent because I began to slide him out and then back again, using my hand on the part of his shaft that my mouth couldn’t reach. Over and over again I stroked and sucked him with my tongue, squeezing him with my lips and hollowing out my cheeks so my mouth was wrapped as tightly around him as possible.

I used my other hand to reach around him and squeeze his ass cheek, pulling him in closer, holding him to me. I released him and pulled him back again, letting him know it was okay to move. He nodded, and bit his bottom lip, watching as he began to thrust his hips upward into my mouth then slowly pulling back out, groaning as he repeated the motion.

Over and over again he thrust forward and pulled back. I braced myself with my other hand on his ass and again he held my head with both hands as he fucked my mouth. Harder and harder until tears were flowing down my cheeks. I watched as the cords in his neck strained with his every movement. I felt his ass muscles tense and watched as his entire body tightened and his cock hardened in my mouth before spurts of warmth shot from him, deep into my throat. Preppy threw his head back and in the sexiest most animalistic roar he came and came and came until I thought I couldn’t swallow one more drop of his salty release.

He pulled out of me and collapsed onto the floor without pulling his pants back up. He pulled me down with him and wrapped his arms around my back. “I think I just broke a promise to you,” he panted, trying to catch his breath. Our chests heaving together in unison.

“What promise?” I asked, confused.

He tucked me in closer, laying a palm over my breast. “The one where I said I wouldn’t die again,” he chuckled. “‘Cause, Doc, I’m pretty sure you just fucking killed me.”

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Preppy Part One

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Preppy Part Two

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About the Author:

T.M.Frazier is a USA TODAY bestselling author. She resides in sunny Southwest Florida with her husband and her young daughter.

When she’s not writing she loves talking to her readers, country music, reading and traveling. Her debut novel, The Dark Light of Day was published in September of 2013 and when she started writing it she intended for it to be a light beachy romance.

Well…it has a beach in it!

Her latest works include her USA TODAY BESTSELLING KING SERIES and All the Rage.

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Twitter: @TM_Frazier

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Excerpt Reveal: Confessions Of A Former Puck Bunny by Cindi Madsen

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Every addict has their relapse.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A FORMER PUCK BUNNY
Taking Shots #4
Cindi Madsen
Releasing May 8th, 2017
Entangled Embrace
 

 

Confession #1: I used to be a puck bunny, but after a hockey player broke my heart, I gave up all things hockey. Now I’m just focused on finding a way to pass my math class so I can graduate college.
 
Confession #2: Ryder “Ox” Maddox’s deep, sexy voice sends fuzzy tingles through my entire body, and I’m powerless to stop it. Which is a big problem since the hot, surprisingly funny hockey player is my new math tutor.
 
Confession #3: I can’t stop thinking about how ripped Ryder is from all his hockey training, and how fun it’d be to cross lines with him.
 
Confession #4: I kissed a hockey player and I liked it.

 

Confession #5: If I’m not careful, I might relapse and fall for Ryder, and then I’ll be totally pucked.  
 
 
 
 
 
Every thought turned to how strong he was. How much I’d like to see all those muscles without a shirt in the way.
Once he’d counted off twenty-five, he stood and, as if he’d been reading my mind, peeled off his shirt.
I stared. Not subtly, either. Nope, totally unabashed, taking in every dip and groove of his sweat-glistened skin.
“Since we’re playing dirty,” he said, shooting his wadded shirt over to his bag. He grabbed my hand. “Last machine. I’m not sure you can handle it, though.”
“I’m not sure you can handle it.” As far as comebacks went, not my best, but I mentioned he was shirtless and crazy ripped, right?
He sat down on the leg machine, the one where the seat reclined at a forty-five-degree angle, and then he lifted the weighted bar that rested at shin-height with his legs.
He reached for my hand, and since I’d already talked trash, I took it, even though I was starting to think I wouldn’t be able to handle it. He pulled me toward him, and I had no choice but to run my shins into the weights or to straddle the machine. I chose straddling, but kept space between us like I had earlier.
My heart hammered against my rib cage, beating in time with his leg lifts, the steady clink of the weights filling the air. Ryder’s eyes remained locked on mine, and energy crackled in the air between us. He sat up enough to run his hands up my thighs.
A dart of heat shot through my core, and my breath lodged in my throat. Ryder’s fingertips skimmed the skin between my pants and shirt and desire danced across my nerve endings. Still our eyes remained fixed on each other, and I wasn’t sure I was taking in oxygen anymore.
A distant part of me whispered that if I didn’t stop this…whatever we were doing, I’d be in trouble. But fighting my attraction to him was exhausting and the ache that’d formed between my thighs grew more persistent, drowning out silly things like common sense.
I leaned over like I had before, my hands braced on either side of him. He lifted the weights again, and then he brushed his lips against mine. Just a quick slide of soft lips.
My throat went completely dry. I pressed my palm flat against his stomach and slowly slid it up, feeling his firm chest and the hammering of his heart, which echoed mine.
Ryder gripped my hips and pulled me down to sit on his lap, eradicating the space between us. He lifted the weights with his legs a few more times, each rep bumping me tighter to him. Friction was definitely happening, and with each lift, it became clearer and clearer how much it was affecting him as well.
The tiniest whimper escaped my lips and he raised an eyebrow that added even more smugness to the curve of his tempting mouth.
Two could play dirty. So I sank farther into his lap and he groaned.
Of course, all it did was give me dirty thoughts and turn me on that much more.
He lifted his legs two more times, the movement shaky. He slowly ran his fingertips up my arm, across my collarbone, up my neck, and then he reached back and tugged my hair free of its ponytail.
 
He drove his hand into my hair, cupped the back of my head, and for one torturous moment, time stopped, both of us suspended right there on edge of crossing lines.
 

 

 
 
 
 
 
Cindi Madsen is a USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romance and young adult novels. She sits at her computer every chance she gets, plotting, revising, and falling in love with her characters. Sometimes it makes her a crazy person. Without it, she’d be even crazier. She has way too many shoes, but can always find a reason to buy a pretty new pair, especially if they’re sparkly, colorful, or super tall. She loves music and dancing and wishes summer lasted all year long. She lives in Colorado (where summer is most definitely NOT all year long) with her husband and three children. 

 

You can visit her Website, where you can sign up for her newsletter to get all the up-to-date information on her books. 
 

 

 

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Excerpt Reveal: Betrayed By Lies by Rebecca Shea

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USA TODAY bestselling author Rebecca Shea brings you the third title in her thrilling and sexy romantic suspense Bound & Broken Series, BETRAYED BY LIES, releasing April 24, 2017. Don’t miss the amazing first chapter below! Pre-order BETRAYED BY LIES, and be sure to grab your copies of BROKEN BY LIES and BOUND BY LIES today! Fall into the deliciously dark world where the line between good and evil becomes blurred.

 

 

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About BETRAYED BY LIES:

From the USA Today bestselling author of the Unbreakable series, comes a sexy, heart-wrenching novel…Betrayed by Lies.

As an ATF agent, bringing down the Estrada cartel has been my sole mission. I’m a skilled agent, determined and fearless, but a relentless pursuit and a willingness to risk everything almost killed me.

 
A year later, when an opportunity in Los Angeles presents itself, I jump at the chance to start over and rebuild the career and life I almost lost.

 
Kate Stevens was not part of my new plan. I never expected she would be the one to save me from my past. She was exactly what I needed—smart, beautiful and independent. I finally have a future I look forward to.

Only nothing in my life ever goes according to plan. Losing Kate is not an option, but fate seems poised to ruin me, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.

Pre-order BETRAYED BY LIES Today!

iBooks ** Barnes and Noble ** Kobo ** GooglePlay

Amazon Live Release on April 24th!

 

CHAPTER ONE

Sam

I wake with a start, sitting straight up in my bed. Cool air fills my lungs when I gasp, pulling a deep breath in. My eyes slowly adjust to the dark room, and I rub the sweat from my forehead before swinging my feet over the edge of the bed and resting my arms on my knees. The dream is always the same, the piercing pain of the bullets hitting my flesh…and the fear of dying, scared and alone.

An exaggerated huff leaves my mouth when I see the alarm clock on the bedside table. It reads four-ten in the morning. That puts three hours and twenty minutes of sleep under my belt. It’s the longest I’ve slept since I arrived in Los Angeles three days ago.

 
I’m used to surviving on very little sleep, but the nightmares of that night are back and making it more difficult to find rest. I push myself out of bed and throw on a pair of athletic shorts and t-shirt. Grabbing my phone and hotel room key, I head to the gym. With no one else up this early, I play music directly from my phone while watching CNN with subtitles as I get my daily seven-mile run in.

 
I like running outdoors better, but it’s easier to use the gym and treadmill here at the hotel. My phone pings with incoming texts, but I focus on my run. The burn in my lungs relieves the stress in my shoulders. Sweat coats my skin and drips from my nose as I increase my speed—pushing myself harder. The treadmill roars as I increase the speed yet again, and my heart pounds wildly against my ribcage as my lungs fight for air.

 
Pain—it’s the only way I know I’m alive.

 
Pain in my chest. My mind. My body.

 
The treadmill slows just as my phone pings again, multiple times, alerting me to more incoming text messages—messages that I ignore. I’ve got three days’ worth waiting for a response, and I’m in no hurry to get to them. Transferring to the ATF offices in Los Angeles makes for an easy reason to avoid everyone and everything. Avoidance is what I do best.

I grab a bottle of water and return to my room for a shower before heading into my new office. New office. New job. New city. New state. New life.

 
A chance to start over. A chance to leave the past where it belongs…in the past. I pull a suit out of the closet and turn on the shower to let the water warm up.

 
Raking my hands over my face, I do my best to shove the events of last year to the back of my mind, but the life goes out of my eyes when I see the scars scattered across my chest. They’re a constant reminder of the day I lost almost everything…including my life.

 
Standing in front of the mirror, I run my hand up over my chest and shoulder, my fingertips brushing the smooth surface of the scars spread across the left side of my chest. I ball my hands tightly and release, repeating two more times, a coping mechanism my physical therapist taught me to deal with my anger.

 
I step into the shower and let the hot water ease my tension. My neck, shoulders, and back instantly begin to relax, and I allow my mind to let go at the same time. “New beginnings,” I mumble to myself as the shower cleanses me of my anger, a baptism of sorts.

 
I dress and am out the door in less than thirty minutes, easing my car onto the bumper-to-bumper packed L.A. freeway. A commute that would take me less than ten minutes in Phoenix takes me damn near forty-five. I find a covered parking spot just as my phone begins to ring. A number I don’t recognize flashes on the screen, and I decline the call. I don’t have the time nor patience to deal with unknown callers. Gathering my suit coat and phone, I find my way to the main entrance, using the security badge that was sent to me prior to my arrival to allow me entrance into the building.

 
My phone begins ringing again just as I’m weaving my way through the lobby and headed to the elevators. Same number. This time I press accept and answer. Before I even speak, the female voice on the other end catches me off guard.

 
“Oh my god, I didn’t expect you to answer.” She pauses. “I was leaving a voice mail and my call dropped so I was just calling back to finish the message.” I hear her sigh. “This is Kate Stevens. Nick Stevens sister. He gave me your number.” Nick Stevens, my new boss. “He mentioned that you might need a place to rent. I have a guesthouse he thought would be perfect for you, and he asked me to call you. I’m sorry if this caught you off guard. He said he was going to speak with you.” She finally stops speaking so I can get a word in.

 
“Hello, Kate. Nick didn’t mention this to me.”

 
I hear her sigh loudly. “He’s the most unorganized human being alive,” she mumbles, and I can’t help but chuckle. I’ve met the guy three times, and she’s right from my observation as well. “I’m so sorry to have called you,” she apologizes.

 
“Don’t be. I’d love to check out the place. I got here Friday, and I’ve been staying in a hotel while I look for something more permanent—”

 
“Don’t feel obligated,” she cuts me off.

 
“I don’t,” I answer her honestly. “I’m mainly looking for something not too far from the office and just somewhere to lay my head. Nothing fancy. I won’t be around much because all I ever do is work.”

 
“Sounds like Nick,” she says with a small laugh. “You’re welcome to check out the house anytime. It’s close to your office, but it’s a little off the beaten path near the foothills. Either call or text me, and we’ll schedule a time for you to stop by, or have Nick show it to you anytime. He knows where I hide the spare key. I’m also not home often so coordinating our schedules might be tough.”

 
I hear a horn honk in the background as she mutters a string of curse words worthy of an R-rating, and I can’t help but laugh. “That sounds great. Thanks for calling, Kate.”

 
She ends the call without another word, and I’m left standing in the lobby of my new office, laughing.

 
The morning is spent being briefed on projects that the team is working on and investigating. I’ll be taking over a case that my predecessor left when he was promoted to a position in Washington D.C., as well as anything new that comes in.

 
There’s a quick knock on my doorjamb before Nick sticks his head in my office. “You got any lunch plans?”

 
“Not today,” I toss over my shoulder as I close the folder on my desk.

 
“Let’s go grab a quick bite. I need to get the hell out of this office.” He loosens the tie around his neck. Nick is about my height and build, probably a few years older than me, California born and raised, and started in the San Diego field office. Worked his way up to Los Angeles and plans to retire here.

 
I grab my phone and slide it into the pocket of my suit jacket.

 
“How’s the first day treating you?” he asks as we weave through cubicles lining the rectangular office floor outside our offices.

 
“Good. Just briefing myself on the Navarro case.”

 
“We’ve been working on that for years,” he grumbles. “Hoping you can close the deal on that one.” His car beeps as we approach and he unlocks the doors. “Hey,” he buckles himself in and starts the car. “You do great work. I heard how you took down the Estrada cartel.” He slides his sunglasses on his face.

 
My heart races as I wonder how much he knows—if he’s aware the Estradas are my family. It was well known in the Phoenix office, but I’m not sure how much Los Angeles knows about my ‘family’ history. I nod but don’t say anything.

 
“You’re the best of the best, which is why you’re going to take down Navarro,” he continues as we take off down the road. “It was easy for me to approve the transfer request.”

 
“Thanks.” I offer a tight smile and turn to look out the passenger window.

 
“I’m excited for you to kick ass here in L.A. So why the hell did you want to leave Phoenix anyway? There’s so much shit going on in that office, you must’ve had years of work still.”

 
I blow a puff of air from my mouth. “My injuries—”

 
“Shit, I forgot about that. Sorry, continue.” He winces as I continue.

 
“My injuries fully healed with time and physical therapy, and I wrapped up the cases I was working on.” I look at him out of the corner of my eye to gauge his response. He raps his thumb against the steering wheel and nods his head slowly. “And it just felt like it was a good time to start fresh. Start over with a clean slate.”

 
He turns his head to look at me. “I cannot tell you how lucky we are to have you here in Los Angeles. I hope you’re fully prepared to kick ass and take names.”

 
I can’t help but smile, appreciating the vote of confidence.

 
***

 
As the day winds down and the office empties, I find myself wrapped up in the case file on my desk, familiarizing myself with all the key players, the locations where the guns are being held, and the evidence that we have to date, along with notes on what we still need to document.

 
Nick doesn’t knock when he enters my office this time, rather throwing himself into the chair across my desk with an exaggerated sigh.

 
“What’s the sigh for?” I ask him as I tuck the case file into my bag. I’ll finish combing through the remaining details tonight and make my own notes. I have a system for how I set up my case folders, and I need to rework all of these.

 
“Just a Monday,” he states, looking around my bare office. “You going to decorate or something? Throw a poster on the wall?” He waves his hand around, gesturing to the stark gray walls.

 
“Decorate? No. I do have some awards and diplomas I’ll hang once they arrive. They’re being sent from Phoenix.”

 
He nods, content with that answer.

 
I clear my throat. “Speaking of decorating, I got a call from Kate.” I raise my eyebrows and sit back in my desk chair. “She said something about having a guesthouse to rent. Were you going to tell me she was going to call?”

 
“I did. I sent you a text on Saturday.” He relaxes in his chair and props a foot on his opposite knee.  I really need to stop ignoring my messages. He continues, “I stopped by to see her this weekend and forgot she had that guesthouse. Immediately thought of you when I saw it.”

 
“Thanks. I need to find some time to check it out. Living out of a hotel room is less than ideal.” I reach over and power down my laptop.

 
“Let’s go now. It’s just down the road a few miles. I know where she keeps the spare key if she’s not there.”

 
“She also mentioned that,” I laugh.

 
“Grab your shit and let’s go. You can follow me there.” He jumps up from the chair and quickly pulls his tie off. Nick looks more like an outdoorsman than a senior agent with the ATF. He looks uncomfortable in a suit. I see him more as the park ranger type, running around in cargos and hiking boots.

 
I follow suit, loosening my tie as I follow him to our cars.

 
A few miles is more like fifteen, and about half of those miles are in bumper-to-bumper L.A. traffic. Something that I’m not sure I’ll ever adjust to. Once we exit the freeway, we wind through gorgeous neighborhoods all the way back to the base of the foothills. I would never in a million years guess the house we pull up to is a house in a suburb of Los Angeles. It sits on what I assume is about an acre of lush green land with neighbors spread out down a long secluded, tree-lined street. The ranch style house is simple yet modern with an updated exterior, wood shutters, and wrought iron accessories.

 
“Not a bad drive, eh,” Nick says as we both step out of our cars in the driveway. “I should say for L.A. standards. If your commute is under an hour, you’re pretty much living the life,” he laughs.

 
It really wasn’t a bad commute. I eyeball the watch on my wrist and the drive was just under thirty minutes. Nick reaches inside a hanging planter that swings from the covered front porch and pulls out a key. He waves me toward the side of the house where a brick sidewalk snakes around to the guesthouse that sits just off the main house. It looks exactly like the main house, just slightly smaller.

 
“This is it,” he says, sliding the key into the front door. “One bedroom, a small office slash library, kitchen, living room, and one and a half baths.”

 
We step inside. It’s obviously been remodeled recently. The smell of fresh paint hits me as I walk deeper into the house. Everything is brand new, sleek, and modern. Bright white trim and doors offset light gray walls. A dark wood floor makes the bright white kitchen pop against the stainless steel appliances.

 
“The only thing that’s missing is a washer and dryer. She said she’d order those once she leased the house. The laundry room is off the back.” He points to a door off the kitchen. “It’s a large pantry and a laundry room.”

 
I’m impressed with what I’ve seen thus far. I walk through the open living room and down the hall to the bedroom. It’s large and bright with one wall of windows that start near the ceiling and stretch about three quarters of the way down the wall. Long, dark gray curtains hang to each side of the paneled windows that overlooks more of the lush backyard. There’s a single French door that leads to a small brick patio off the master bedroom, and a table and chairs sit out there. In the middle of the table is a fire pit. I instantly imagine myself relaxing around this table with a beer after a long day at the office.

 
I head back down the hallway where I stop and peek my head in the office. It’s got two glass French doors that lead into the square room. One entire wall has built in bookshelves and a built in desk. It’s the perfect home office.

 
I scan the living room and kitchen again and make note that my dark furniture will fit perfectly in the space and complements the gray and white theme throughout. This might be the easiest decision I’ve made since deciding to move to Los Angeles.

 
Nick steps out front while I take one last look around, making mental notes of the space and things I’ll need shipped from Phoenix.

 
After we step outside and Nick locks the door, I hear him shuffling behind me on the brick walkway. “So what do you think?”

 
“Perfect. It’s everything I was looking for,” I say as I spin around and am met face-to-face with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. I stumble momentarily because, for half a second, those words mean so much more than just the house I was looking at.

 
“I’m Kate,” she says, her voice strong and secure. She holds her hand out to shake mine. She’s tall with light brown hair that hangs just past her shoulders, and she’s wearing a navy blue dress and heels that put her at almost my six-foot-two. Confident. She’s confident. I can read a woman by the way she carries herself, the tone of her voice, and what she wears.

 
I take her hand in mine and smile. “Sam. Sam Cortez. I’ll take it.” Again, those words mean so much more than just the house.

 
Her lips turn into a half smile, and she holds eye contact with me. She licks her lips and tilts her head before glancing over to Nick and then back to me. “Nice to meet you, Sam Cortez. Welcome home.”

 
And my heart begins to beat again for the first time in eighteen months.

 
 

And don’t miss the first two books in the Bound & Broken Series!

 

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BROKEN BY LIES

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BOUND BY LIES

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1P0A8953Rebecca Shea is the USA Today Bestselling author of the Unbreakable series (Unbreakable, Undone, and Unforgiven) and the Bound and Broken series (Broken by Lies and Bound by Lies). She lives in Phoenix, Arizona with her family. From the time Rebecca could read she has had a passion for books. Rebecca spends her days working and her nights writing, bringing stories to life. Born and raised in Minnesota, Rebecca moved to Arizona in 1999 to escape the bitter winters. When not working or writing, she can be found on the sidelines of her sons’ football games, or watching her daughter at ballet class. Rebecca is fueled by insane amounts of coffee, margaritas, Laffy Taffy (except the banana ones), and happily ever afters.

 

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Excerpt Reveal: Mister Moneybags by Vi Keeland & Penelope Ward

 

 

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IMG_5273I met Bianca in an elevator.

She was on her way to interview me when we got stuck.

The beautiful, raven-haired reporter assumed I was a delivery guy because of the way I was dressed.

She had no clue I was really Dex Truitt, the wealthy, successful businessman she’d dubbed “Mister Moneybags”—her afternoon appointment.

Bianca told me how much she hated Dex’s type—snobby, over educated, silver- spooned men who didn’t appreciate the simple things in life.

So, after the elevator finally started moving again, I cancelled the interview and let her believe I was someone I wasn’t—a bike messenger named Jay. I loved the way she looked at the fake me and didn’t want it to end.

I began dating her as “Jay”—all the while letting her interview the real me over email.

I didn’t expect that our chemistry online would be just as hot.

I didn’t expect the mess I’d gotten myself into.

I didn’t expect that Jay and Dex would fall in love with her.

And she was falling for two men.

Only, both men were me.

And when she found out, we were both going to lose her.

Nothing could have prepared me for that day. And I certainly wasn’t prepared for what came after.

All good things must come to an end, right?
Except our ending was one I didn’t see coming.

 

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MEET BIANCA

 

I sighed audibly. Are we even moving? It was seriously the slowest elevator I’d ever taken. Frustrated, and maybe a bit anxious to get the interview over with, I took another shot at the elevator panel. Again, pressing the button repeatedly, I groaned, “Come on. I’m already freakin’ late.”

I breathed a sigh of relief when the car seemed to finally pick up speed. But then, it jolted to an abrupt stop, and the elevator went pitch black.

“Well now you’ve gone and broken the damn thing,” a deep voice said from behind me. Startled, I jumped and bobbled my cell phone in the dark, which resulted in it falling. From the sound of it smashing against the floor, I knew it had broken.

“Shit! Look what you made me do.” I bent over and patted the floor, but I couldn’t find it. “Can you at least give me some light so I can find my phone?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Thank you,” I huffed.

“If I had a cell phone on me.”

“Are you kidding? You don’t have a cell phone on you? Who walks around without their cell phone?”

“Maybe you should try it. If you weren’t so obsessed with yours, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

I stood, and my hands went to my hips. “How so?”

“Well, you were so busy typing away on your phone, you didn’t even notice another passenger was in the car with you.”

“And?”

“Had you seen me, you wouldn’t have jumped hearing my voice and broken your phone. Then we would have had light, and you would be able to see that elevator panel well enough to push that button another twenty or thirty times. I’m sure that would’ve helped.”

I felt the man moving around behind me.

“What are you doing?”

When he answered, his voice came from a different place. It was to my left and beneath me. “I’m on the floor looking for your cell phone.”

It really was pitch dark. I couldn’t see a thing, but I felt the air move, and I knew he must have stood back up.

“Put your hand out.”

“You’re going to put my phone in it, right?”

“No, I’ve taken down my pants and I’m going to stick my dick in it. Christ, you’re really a bitch, aren’t you?”

Thinking he couldn’t see me, I smiled at his sarcasm and put out my hand. “Just give me my phone.”

 

 

 

MEET DEX

 

Wow. My little ball player was quite the fox.

I’d only seen her from the back before the lights went out. Now, I was staring into her beautiful, big brown eyes, feeling like this elevator mishap wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

She cleared her throat. “The lights came back, but we’re still stuck.”

I clicked on some of the buttons. “Seems that way. But this is a step in the right direction. I bet this thing will be moving in no time.”

And by this thing moving, I do not mean my dick, although I could have sworn I felt it twitch when she just licked her beautiful full lips.

Do that again.

Fuck.

She is beautiful.

My eyes travelled down the length of her body then back up again, loving how the small buttons on her conservative blouse formed a path up to her delicate neck. I wouldn’t have minded sucking on that skin.

Maybe I could entice her to play hooky with me.

“Where are you headed once we get out of here?” I asked.

“The thirty-fourth floor,” she said.

What?

What is she doing going up to my floor?

I know she doesn’t work for me. I would have remembered that face, those eyes.

“What kind of business you have going on up there?”

“I actually have the pleasure of interviewing Mister Moneybags himself.”

My stomach sank.

Ohhhh.

This didn’t bode well for me.

I swallowed then cocked my head to the side and played dumb. “Who?”

“The elusive Dexter Truitt. He’s the CEO of Montague Enterprises. They occupy the entire top floor.”

Trying to seem like I was not seriously about to lose my shit, I asked, “Why do you call him Mister Moneybags?”

“I just picture him to be this crabby, money-hungry asshole, I guess. Sounds like a fitting name. Of course, I don’t actually know him.”

“Why do you think that way about him, then?”

“I have my reasons.”

 

MMB excerpt teaser

 

 

Author photoVi Keeland is a #1 New York Times Bestselling author. With more than a million books sold, her titles have appeared in over fifty Bestseller lists and are currently translated in twelve languages. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.

 

Website | Facebook Fan Group | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

 

 

 

Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and #1 Wall Street Journal Bestselling author. She’s a fifteen-time New York Times bestseller of twelve novels.

Having grown up in Boston with five older brothers, she 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 12-year-old girl with autism and a 10-year-old boy. Penelope and her family reside in Rhode Island.

 

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Other books from Vi Keeland & Penelope Ward:

Cocky Bastard
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Stuck-Up Suit
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Playboy Pilot
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Other books from Vi Keeland:

Standalone novels

Egomaniac
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Bossman
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The Baller
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Left Behind (A Young Adult Novel)

First Thing I See

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/first-thing-i-see-ms-vi-keeland/1114703332

Life on Stage series (2 standalone books)
Beat
http://www.amazon.com/Beat-Vi-Keeland-ebook/dp/B00ZOMUV12/ http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/beat-vi-keeland/1121715501 https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/beat/id983959123 https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/beat-5

Throb

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/throb/id948747986
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/throb-vi-keeland/1121112695
https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/throb-4

MMA Fighter series (3 standalone books)
Worth the Fight

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/worth-the-fight/id805540252
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/worth-the-fight-vi-keeland/1117014180
http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/worth-the-fight

Worth the Chance

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/worth-the-chance/id813714461
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/worth-the-chance-vi-keeland/1118634058
http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/worth-the-chance

Worth Forgiving

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/worth-forgiving/id906130022?ls=1&mt=11
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/worth-forgiving-vi-keeland/1120173153
http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/worth-forgiving

The Cole Series (2 book serial)
Belong to You

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/belong-to-you/id639401754
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/belong-to-you-vi-keeland/1114962845
http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/belong-to-you

Made for You

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/made-for-you/id84550637
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/made-for-you-vi-keeland/1115883225
http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/belong-to-you

Other books from Penelope Ward:

Mack Daddy:
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RoomHate
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Stepbrother Dearest
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Neighbor Dearest
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Sins of Sevin
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Jake Undone (Jake #1)
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My Skylar
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Jake Understood (Jake #2)
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Gemini
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iTunes: http://apple.co/1QTaONj
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kobo: http://bit.ly/1BGJ2wu

Excerpt Reveal: Dirty Filthy Rich Men by Laurelin Paige

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Dirty Filthy Rich Men, an all-new contemporary romance from NYT Bestseller Laurelin Paige is coming March 27th!

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Dirty Filthy Rich Men by Laurelin Paige
Publication Date: March 27th, 2017
Genre: Contemporary Romance

From NYT Bestselling author Laurelin Paige, discover a whole new world filled with sex, love, power, romance and dirty, filthy rich men.

When I met Donovan Kincaid, I knew he was rich. I didn’t know he was filthy. Truth be told, I was only trying to get his best friend to notice me.

I knew poor scholarship girls like me didn’t stand a chance against guys like Weston King and Donovan Kincaid, but I was in love with his world, their world, of parties and sex and power. I knew what I wanted—I knew who I wanted—until one night, their world tried to bite me back and Donovan saved me. He saved me, and then Weston finally noticed me, and I finally learned what it was to be in their world.

And then what it was like to lose it.

Ten years later, I’ve found my way back. Back to their world. Back to him.

This time, I’m ready. I’ve been down this road before, and I know all the dirty, filthy ways Donovan will try and wreck me.

But it’s hard to resist. Especially when I know how much I’ll like it.

Excerpt:

After she was gone, I walked over to the windows and drank in the scene. The Town Center was high enough that it had an unblocked view of downtown Manhattan, Brooklyn, and beyond.

Giddiness surged through me, starting like a pinprick at my center and moving out through my veins in all directions until even my fingers and toes felt warm.

I was really here.

I made it.

It wasn’t the way I thought it would be, but in the end, it still came out of my time at Harvard. I’d always known that connections made the difference in a career, and here I was. Finally. At the top of the world, looking out.

I couldn’t stop grinning.

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” a male voice came from behind me.

Still smiling, I glanced up and caught his reflection in the window.

And everything disappeared.

The world that had buzzed below, the beautiful scene, the excitement that had unfurled through my body—all of it evaporated and all that existed in its place was a pale, hollow shell of myself and the man in the perfectly tailored suit behind me.

I turned to look at him directly. Our gazes smashed together, and my legs nearly fell out from under me.

“Donovan,” I rasped. It was a miracle that I managed to find enough voice to say that much.

And there was so much more that had to be said. So much more that I hadn’t prepared for. Which was ridiculous since I’d talked to him so many times in my head over the years, practiced so many conversations, but never did he show up out of the blue looking so dastardly handsome in a dark gray three-piece suit, his face rugged with scruff, his eyes hazel and earnest despite the playful smirk on his lips.

I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I wasn’t even sure how to breathe anymore.

He broke our gaze to nod out the window at the skyline, walking toward me as he said, “I’m sure you found the Empire.”

Though his focus was now on the scenery, I didn’t take my eyes off him as he approached. He didn’t stop until he was right beside me. So close our shoulders would touch if I coughed. Tension ran off him like foam spilling over from a mug of beer. Good tension. Bad tension. I wasn’t sure if there was a difference when it came to Donovan.

Which was why I was screwed if he was here.

Why the hell was he here?

“I thought you were in Tokyo.” I couldn’t stop staring at him. He’d gotten more refined with age, and rougher at the same time. His hair was short and his curls gone, giving him a polished look he lacked before. The lines by his eyes were more defined and his expression seemed harder than I’d remembered. It made him sexier.

As if he was a man who needed to be sexier than the one I knew.

“I came back two months ago,” he said offhandedly. “That’s it right there.” He leaned his face in close to mine as he pointed to the famous structure. “Do you see it?”

Fuck if I cared about the Empire. I was in Donovan Kincaid’s orbit. What else was there in the world?

DFRM DEVIL 2

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About the Author:

USA Today and New York Times Bestselling Author Laurelin Paige is 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 or 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. She is represented by Rebecca Friedman.

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Excerpt Reveal: What I Need by J. Daniels – Alabama Summer Series

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WINFrom New York Times bestselling author, J. Daniels, comes a sexy new STANDALONE novel.

Riley Tennyson has made a huge mistake.

At least, that’s what she keeps telling herself.

Showing up to her brother’s wedding pissed off and newly single, Riley seeks comfort in solitude and an open bar, until the gorgeous and irresistibly charming CJ Tully makes her a better offer―a wild night with the master of smooth-talking where nothing is off limits.

Riley does what any single woman would do, and a connection is made. One neither one of them can ignore. But when she comes home to the boyfriend she no longer thought she had, Riley buries her secret and begs CJ to do the same.

Forget about each other. It was a mistake. That’s all it was… right?

Desires are hidden. Distance is kept. Until one night CJ makes the ultimate sacrifice, and Riley can no longer avoid the man she can’t stop thinking about.

Not with him sleeping down the hall…

 

 

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image1 (1)

 

“You Tully?”

I jerk my chin at the guy standing at the security booth after he speaks, then throw a look of appreciation at the bouncer who led me over here before he steps away.

“Name’s Mark. I’m running things tonight. It’s good to have you,” the guy says.

We shake hands.

“Yeah. Don’t mention it,” I reply.

He looks around the venue and gestures. “Packed joint tonight. Shouldn’t get too crazy with this band and the crowd it’s bringing out, but we never wanna risk it. It’s good having backup.”

“How many of us you got?” I ask him over the music when the band starts playing, leaning closer to hear his response.

“You and another guy who’s already here. He’s hanging out up by the stage. Plus a bunch of our guys.” He hooks his thumb at the floor to ceiling windows along the front of the building, adding, “I got some uniforms on the street keeping that shit under control in case people get tossed out.”

I nod, liking what I’m hearing.

The Red Door isn’t the biggest venue I’ve worked security on, but it’s big enough. Managing this shit alone can present a challenge. And by the looks of it, it’s a sold out show.

More eyes we got on the crowd, the better.

“You run into any problems yet?” I ask.

The guy shakes his head. “Nah. Just normal shit. People trying to sneak in their own booze,” he replies, glancing at the door where everyone is filing in. “Confiscated it. No issues. Everything else seems to be running smooth.”

“Good,” I say when I meet his eyes. “I’ll keep near the back since the other guy’s covering the front. I’ll come to you if I run into any problems.”

“Sounds good, man.”

We exchange another hand shake, then I step away and move through the crowd.

I stop near the center of the room and stay to the back like I said so I can have full view of the floor that’s packed with bodies, some keeping position and others moving away from me, pushing to get closer to the stage.

Bringing my arms across my chest, I stand tall and do a sweep of the place. I’ve been here before so I know the layout.

There’s a bar to the right of where I’m standing, stretching the length of the wall. Restrooms are behind me. Other than the hallway leading to the rooms behind the stage where bands hang out, there’s isn’t much that isn’t visible. Plus, it’s one level, standing room only, so I don’t gotta worry about another floor I need to cover.

Should be an easy gig.

I do shit like this on the side for the extra cash. Venues hosting concerts are always looking for cops who are willing to come out and beef up security. We stay in civilian clothes so we blend in, and unless I’m having to act on something, I typically get out without anyone knowing I’m a cop.

Easy money. Ain’t nothing wrong with that.

I look back to the dance floor.

The lights are dimmed. Red and blue strobe lights positioned on the ceiling illuminate the crowd, along with the bright, white lights shining from the stage. Visibility is good.

Another plus. I worked a few of these where it wasn’t and that only presented problems.

But here, I can see faces. Can see other shit going on too if someone’s dumb enough to try something too.

I anticipate it. Events like this always bring out some of the stupidest motherfuckers. Which is exactly why they like having us work these things.

Security can only do so much.

I’m three songs into the set when the beat picks up. The bass vibrates along the floor. I feel it pulsing in my feet.

The faster rhythm stirs the crowd and shifts them around. More bodies gather and move closer to the stage, jumping up with their fists in the air and belting out lyrics, drawing people away from the bar. Others stay toward the back where there’s room to dance.

That’s where I’m looking, and that’s where I see her.

Blonde.

I blink. My eyes refocus. Then I stare at waves the color of sand flowing down the back of a tiny thing swaying to the music.

Shirt tied off at the waist. Lower back showing. Hips shaking in some tight as shit black jeans. Ass looking fucking incredible.

Damn.

She reaches above her, bends her elbows and rakes her fingers through her hair, lifting it off her neck as her body keeps moving in ways I feel straight in my cock, then after letting her arms drop, she looks toward the bar with eyes searching, giving me full view of her profile.

My chest grows motherfucking tight.

I blink again, thinking I’m seeing things.

Riley Tennyson wets her lips.

Fuck.

I’m not seeing things.

Jesus Christ. This is just what I need.

Working this shit, needing to stay focused and eyes alert to all bodies in this room and now I know for damn sure that’s not gonna be happening, meaning this gig just went from easy to really fucking complicated.

There’s only one body I’m interested in keeping eyes on and it’s the one making my dick hard.

Motherfucker.

Riley Tennyson is gonna fucking kill me.

I pull in a deep breath, watching that sweet face get ripped out of view when Riley looks toward the stage again.

She keeps dancing. Keeps shaking that perfect ass and swaying those perfect hips, fingers curling in and lifting those long waves again, also perfect.

Every part of her. Every fucking inch.

Perfection.

And I’m not even considering what she’s got going on in the front. Shouldn’t even be considering it—we’re friends, she’s taken, and I’m not a fucking asshole—but that didn’t stop me all day when I couldn’t keep those spectacular tits off my mind, even going a step further into crazy when I shared that with her through a text.

I need to quit now. Stop this shit.

I can avoid it. I got options.

Switch with the guy hanging up by the stage, hoping Riley keeps her location. Or fuck it. Just pull out of this gig all together. Make up some excuse. I don’t need the cash.

I don’t need to be staring.

I sure as fuck don’t need to be getting hard right now.

I got options. Just need to pick one.

Simple.

Yeah…

Real fucking simple.

I breathe in deep again, letting it out slowly. And I do this staring at her.

Only at her.

And the more staring I do the more I start to notice, like how she seems to be out there dancing alone, not with another person or a group of friends she came with. People around her are keeping to themselves or appearing to be together, throwing their arms around each other or sharing looks. Acting friendly. Just not with her.

Riley isn’t meeting anyone’s eyes. She’s not trying to talk to anyone. She’s in her own little world.

She’s here alone.

He made her come to this shit alone.

Anger fills me. My jaw flexes while the muscles in my arms and shoulders start locking up.

My choice of options just grew by one.

Instead of charging through the crowd which, no lie, is exactly what I want to be doing right now, I reach into the back pocket of my jeans and pull out my phone. I shoot out a quick text.

Me: Tell me he’s here.

Lifting my eyes, I watch as Riley pauses mid ass-shake, slaps her back pocket, tugs out her phone and brings it in front of her. Her head tilts down, then a second later it’s lifting and she’s searching all around where she’s standing, peering around people and standing taller. She finds me when she finally twists around, head first and then body following.

Her lips part. Her blue eyes go round, flames burning me up like they always do.

Riley starts moving my way and my eyes lower, first to her mouth, watching the slow smile twist across it and take shape.

She looks happy to see me. I shouldn’t put stock into that but I do. It’s what I want.

Then my eyes keep dropping and I get full view of her tits. Her full, heavy, perfect fucking tits. Sitting high behind her tight white shirt and bouncing with her steps.

Jesus Christ.

My new friend has tits like that. And by the looks of it, she didn’t bother putting on a bra either.

What the fuck did I do in a previous life to deserve this kind of torture?

“Hey. I didn’t know you were coming to this,” Riley says all sweet sounding when she reaches me, stopping close and offering me a smile. Sweat gathers on her brow and in the hollow dip in her throat. She shoves her phone away and questions, “Why are you standing all the way back here? Don’t you wanna get closer so you can see the band?”

“Working,” I tell her, lifting my eyes before I punch a hole through my jeans. I tuck my phone into my back pocket, adding, “Trust me. I can see plenty from where I’m standing.”

Ain’t that the fucking truth.

Riley blinks, then looks to my chest. “You’re not wearing your uniform,” she observes.

I squint at her mouth.

I got what she said, but I can barely hear her over the music. I don’t like that.

I want to hear her.

“Come on.” Grabbing her elbow, I pull Riley with me to the back corner of the room, stopping beside the hallway that leads to the restrooms and crowding the wall.

It’s as far from the speakers as I can get her unless I take her outside, and I’m not sure I want to do that.

Only `cause I know I’ll want to leave with her. Meaning I absolutely want to do that.

Shoulder pressing to the wall, I release her elbow after tugging Riley close. I pull my arms across my chest. “Not typically something I wanna advertise when I’m staying undercover,” I say in response to her observation.

“Oh.” She looks up at me, smiling and lifting her shoulders with a jerk. “Cool,” she says.

I can see Riley better where we’re standing now. The hallway light is shining on her, making her skin glow.

I look her over.

She wearing more makeup than I’ve ever seen her in. Black lines her eyes and her lashes are darker. Thicker too.

I like that.

Her cheeks are flushed from the dancing she was doing. That combined with the whatever she’s got on her face is hiding her freckles from me.

I don’t like that. But I don’t tell Riley. I keep looking.

Red lips, full and shiny. Cock sucking lips. I know that from experience.

Shit. Don’t go there. I focus on her eyes again.

Blue and black, fading out to grey. Like a storm coming…

“You totally still look like a cop,” Riley shares, jarring my focus. The corner of her mouth twitches. “You’re not fooling anyone, CJ Tully.”

My brows raise. “Yeah?”

She nods, laughing. “You look scary and pissed off. Smile a little.”

I don’t smile. Not even when she amps hers up and gives it to me, pairing it with another soft giggle.

I get straight to the point with her because getting off point with Riley is gonna lead to this shit getting even more complicated, and fuck, I’ve looked enough tonight to run the risk of major fucking complications.

Plus, she’s laughing. Smiling. Looking like she’s thinking the same things I’m thinking.

Get to the fucking point, Tully.

“You gonna answer my question?” I ask.

Her brow furrows. “What question?”

“I asked you if he was here,” I remind her.

“Oh.” Nodding, Riley looks behind her in the direction of the bar, then meets my eyes again. “Yeah, he went to get a drink. He doesn’t really want to be here. I kinda dragged him out.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why’d you need to drag him out?”

Riley tilts her head. “Because… he doesn’t really want to be here?” she repeats slowly, looking puzzled. “I just told you. He doesn’t like The Killers.”

“So?”

So?”

“Yeah, babe. So.”

She straightens her head, but her eyes narrow as if she’s thinking hard. “You’ve lost me,” she shares.

“Forget it,” I mumble, looking away, knowing I got no business getting up in her shit the way I’m doing. I need to back off.

“No. What? Tell me.” Riley reaches out and places her hand on my forearm.

I look down and watch her black painted fingers wrap around and curl under. I feel them squeeze.

Our eyes lock.

“Tell me,” she pleads, looking close to begging for this.

My blood starts running hot. Scorching. Hot.

Fuck it.

I’m getting up in her shit.

“I’m here because I’m working for extra cash, not because I’m digging the music,” I share, staring into her eyes and seeing hers staring back, like what I’m revealing is something she needs to hear, not just something she’s curious about. “Don’t hate it. I listen to stuff like this on occasion but it ain’t something I’d pay money to see. That being said, my woman wants to come to a show like this, crowd this size, booze flowing, other shit possibly going on, she ain’t coming alone. No discussion needed. I could hate this music to the point it makes my fucking ears bleed and I’m still going with her.”

“Why?” Riley asks. “To protect her?”

“That.” I jerk my chin. “And `cause she’s mine and a real man can deal with shitty music for a few hours if it means putting in time with his woman.”

Riley drags her teeth along her bottom lip. Her chest starts working harder, moving stricter with her breaths.

I should stop now. The way she’s looking at me…

I should stop.

I don’t.

“Saw you dancing and thought you were here alone,” I add, smirking. “Already hate that motherfucker for what he gets to touch every night. I thought I was gonna have to kill him.”

Riley stares up at me. She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe.

“Babe,” I probe.

“You shouldn’t say that,” she says, face serious.

Her hand squeezes tighter. She’s anxious now, maybe. Or pissed. I don’t know.

I decide to ease her mind if it’s nerves getting to her.

“I wouldn’t really kill him.” My smirk grows into a smile. “Mess him up though.”

“No. Not that.” She shakes her head. “The other thing. What he gets to touch. You shouldn’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“Even so. We’re friends. You shouldn’t say it.”

I bend to get closer. “You might wanna take your hand off me if we’re friends, darlin’.”

 

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logo-rectangle-1-2400-x-1025J.Daniels is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Sweet Addiction series, the Alabama Summer series, and the Dirty Deeds series.

She would rather bake than cook, she listens to music entirely too loud, and loves writing stories her children will never read. Her husband and children are her greatest loves, with cupcakes coming in at a close second.

J grew up in Baltimore and resides in Maryland with her family.

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Excerpt Reveal: Catching Carly by Emma Hart

 

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Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000035_00027]My name is Carly Porter… And I’m really good at bad decisions.

How do I know this, exactly? Well, not including the time I accidentally bleached my eyebrows or sprained my ankle changing a lightbulb…

I had sex with my best friend’s brother.

Zeke Elliott has been a thorn in my side for eleven years. A very sexy, very tempting, very freaking annoying one. With big…hands.

And now my clitoris has a crush on the guy.

Seriously. I can’t look at him without my vagina performing accidental kegels. Which would be fine, but he’s Cain’s brother. I hate him. He’s off limits, right?

Right.

 

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“This never happened.”

Zeke raises an eyebrow. “Nothing has happened.”

I put my hands on my hips and glare at him. “Don’t be a dick. You know what I mean. This is only going to happen because I’m a little drunk.”

“I thought you said it never happened.”

“You’re being a dick.”

His grin is wide and a little cocky. “So right now it’s happening because you’re a little drunk, but tomorrow it won’t have happened.”

I nod. “That’s right. You and I will forget it ever happened.”

His blue-green eyes sweep the length of my body before he meets my gaze, his lips dropping into a self-sure smirk. “Trust me, Carly, you won’t be forgetting this when I’m through with you.”

“Through with me? What am I? A naughty child awaiting punishment?”

“Look, if you want me to spank you, I’m good with that.” He raises his hands in front of his body. “In fact, I’m more than good with that.”

I blink at him. It really doesn’t help that he has his hands up like that. He has big, rough hands that would feel pretty good across my ass…

Good lord, Carly. Focus.

Wait. Does that count as focusing? I think it might.

Hmm…

“We’ll see,” I finally say, clearing my head of that momentary fog. “The point is, whether your ego insists I’ll remember this tomorrow—”

“You will.”

“—Or not,” I continue, ignoring him. “As far as everyone else is concerned, it never has and never will happen. Are we clear?”

“Crystal. Now, are you going to shut the hell up?”

“No. As a rule, I don’t shut up. Ever.”

Zeke steps forward, shutting the distance between us in less than three seconds. He lifts his hand to my chin and cups it, dipping his handsome face down close to mine. “That’s fine. I think I’ll prefer it when you’re screaming for more and calling me God.”

I raise both of my eyebrows. “I’m not going to call you God.”

“I guarantee you’ll feel differently when you’re having the best orgasm of your life.”

“That’s ambitious.” I’ve had some pretty good orgasms. Mostly battery-operated ones, because they can’t cum, so they don’t have to stop.

Zeke circles his strong arm around my waist and yanks me right against him. The force with which my body hits his makes me gasp, something that only makes his smirk a little stronger. “That’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

“Again,” I say, swallowing. “Ambitious.”

“Carly?”

“What?”

He lowers his face so the tip of his nose brushes mine and locks onto me with his gaze. “The next time you talk, you’ll be screaming my name.”

I open my mouth to rebuke that ridiculous—yet hot—statement, but he’s quicker. He drops his mouth to mine and takes my bottom lip between his. His teeth graze over the soft skin, and an uncontrollable shiver rockets down my spine.

Dear god, he’s barely touched me and I want to whimper like a puppy wanting a belly rub.

Except, of course, I want him to rub a whole lot more than my belly.

And do a whole lot more than rubbing while he’s at it too.

This is dumb. I know this. It’s dumber than dumb. It’s the most stupid idea in the history of stupid ideas.

Hell on a Harley Davidson, I’ve lost my goddamn mind.

 

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emma-hart

By day, New York Times and USA Today bestselling New Adult author Emma Hart dons a cape and calls herself Super Mum to two beautiful little monsters. By night, she drops the cape, pours a glass of whatever she fancies—usually wine—and writes books.

Emma is working on Top Secret projects she will share with her followers and fans at every available opportunity. Naturally, all Top Secret projects involve a dashingly hot guy who likes to forget to wear a shirt, a sprinkling (or several) of hold-onto-your-panties hot scenes, and a whole lotta love.

She likes to be busy—unless busy involves doing the dishes, but that seems to be when all the ideas come to life.

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