Highly trained agent Mira Araceli can hold her own in the toughest situations, but not against her secret crush, Torin Carter. She’d fallen for her Hawkeye instructor years before. With his dark Irish good looks, unshakable integrity, and haunted blue eyes, he was everything she fantasized about. Unfortunately he never even glanced at her twice.
Torin’s intense hunger for the new recruit shocked him. But as his student, the fierce and beautiful Mira was off-limits. And she was far too young and innocent for his carnal demands.
Now, when Hawkeye pairs them together for an undercover assignment, she discovers the dangerous side he was hiding. Is she strong enough to fight for their second chance? Or will the beautiful storm that is Torin Carter destroy her completely?
Mira Araceli was utterly lovely, completely captivating. He wanted to please her again and again. Her orgasm had been as loud and unrestrained as the woman herself. Her passion ran deep. She was everything he wanted. All the things that scared the hell out of him.
Worse, he planned to fuck her senseless.
Which was complete madness.
Even if they didn’t plan on it, sex would cloud their working relationship. She fired a possessive streak in him. One that should bother him.
After unfastening her wrists and rubbing the skin to help restore circulation, he helped her back into her ridiculous gown and the annoying petticoats or whatever the hell they were called. He didn’t, however, return her thong.
“Stand still,” he said, working on the frustrating number of hooks and eyes.
The word rocked through him. Other submissives had referred to him by the honorific, but until now, it hadn’t sent a burst of possessiveness through him. He fumbled the next hook. “Who was the goddamn idiot who thought up this outfit?”
“I’ll ignore your rudeness. And in future, I’ll keep you naked.” His fingers were too big for the tiny metal clasps. In frustration, he skipped a few of them. Good enough.
They needed to debrief, but when he looked at her, her deep brown eyes were clouded. She wasn’t quite back all the way.
Araceli might consider herself tough, but she’d also just had a scene. No doubt endorphins were still swimming through her system.
He grabbed his jacket from the bench, then draped the soft leather bomber over her shoulders. Only then did he feed his belt back through the loops on his jeans.
Torin picked up the leash and considered attaching it. Because of her earlier reaction, he figured they should talk about it before he compelled her to wear it. He made it into a tighter loop and stuffed it in his back pocket.
Then he scooped up his little submissive and her numerous layers of clothing.
Frantically, she kicked her legs. “Sir!”
“Settle down or I’ll toss you over my shoulder.”
“You would, too!”
He carried her from the room. As he started down the stairs, she turned into him and wrapped her arms around his neck. There were ways to get her to behave without an argument.
USA Today Best-Selling Author, Winner of the 2015 Best BDSM Book of the year (Bind), 2015 Reader’s Choice Best Erotic Romance (Bind), 2015 Golden Flogger (Crave), 2014 LASR Book of the Year award (In The Den), 2013 Best BDSM Book of the Year award (Over The Line), Golden Flogger Award 2015 nominee for her books Command, Bind, and Brand, Sierra was born in Manchester, England where she spent her early years through castles. After living in Denver for a number of years, the internationally acclaimed author now resides in Galveston, Texas. She loves the way history blends with Southern manners (being called “sugar” is an experience unto itself).
She invites you to join her on a sensual journey where the limits are explored and expanded.
Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never harm me.
Whoever coined that phrase is a bald-faced liar. Words are often the sharpest weapon of all, triggering some of the most powerful emotions a human can experience.
“It’s a boy.”
“Your son needs a heart transplant.”
Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never harm me.
Syllables and letters may not be tangible, but they can still destroy your entire life faster than a bullet from a gun.
Two words—that was all it took to extinguish the sun from my sky.
For ten years, the darkness consumed me.
In the end, it was four deep, gravelly words that gave me hope of another sunrise.
“Hi. I’m Porter Reese.”
Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never harm me.
Words destroyed me.
“I’m sorry. She didn’t make it.”
“Daddy, he can’t breathe!”
“There’s nothing more we can do for your son.”
Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never harm me.
Those syllables and letters became my executioner. I told myself that, if I didn’t acknowledge the pain and the fear, they would have no power over me. But, as the years passed, the hate and the anger left behind began to control me.
Two words—that was all it took to plunge my life into darkness.
In the end, it was four soft, silky words that gave me hope of another sunrise.
“Hi. I’m Charlotte Mills.”
Born and raised in Savannah, Georgia, Aly Martinez is a stay-at-home mom to four crazy kids under the age of five- including a set of twins. Currently living in South Carolina, she passes what little free time she has reading anything and everything she can get her hands on, preferably with a glass of wine at her side.
Spotting a hooker on a city street corner isn’t an abnormal thing.
Me bringing one home? Well, that’s a first.
But this girl . . . she’s in trouble. And the guy she’s talking to isn’t someone she wants to go home with.
So I do the exact thing I shouldn’t—I offer to bring her home with me instead.
She says this is the first time she’s ever done this, which is adorably ironic. Then she proceeds to tell me a sob story about needing money to care for the baby who was left on her doorstep. That’s when my stomach starts to clench. I think she may be telling the truth.
So I do what any respectable man would do. I take her home, stopping to pick up diapers and formula on the way, and discover that she was telling the truth all along.
Christ on a cracker.
I should have just kept walking.
I should have done a thousand other things except for barge into her sad life, offer to fix everything, fall for her . . .
She’s petite yet curvy with a nice ass and beautiful tits. But that’s not the first thing I notice about her.
The first thing that strikes me is that her coat isn’t warm enough for a Chicago winter.
It’s dark out, and barely above freezing. She’s standing on a street corner discussing something with a man in hushed tones, waving her hands dramatically as she speaks. It’s nearly midnight, and the street is almost deserted.
She has long dark hair, a trim build, and a full pouty mouth. And she seems to be pissed off. Curious about her, I stalk closer and then slow my pace.
“Fine. Tell me what it’ll take, sweetheart,” the guy says to her.
She stiffens and puts one hand on her hip. “I’m not for sale, asshole. I did my job, but that’s it. When you step outside those doors, the fantasy ends.”
They’re standing outside a dingy club, the kind of place that smells of rancid smoke, cheap beer, and meaningless sex. I should know. I’ve been here once or twice for bachelor parties and those kinds of things. My friends would call it a titty bar. But my friends are mostly pro football players, and their manners leave a lot to be desired.
The place isn’t really a strip club, more like a topless bar where beautiful women serve drinks in their underwear. It all seemed innocent enough, until now . . . until a sinking feeling washes over me as I watch this woman get propositioned in the street as she’s trying to leave work.
The guy laughs, the sound abrasive, like he doesn’t believe her. “Three hundred bucks. Come on, baby. It’ll be fast.”
She chews on one of those pouty lips as she weighs his words, contemplating what looks to be a life-changing decision . . . and not life-changing in a positive way.
Don’t do it, lady . . . just say no to what this asshole is offering you.
Part of me knows I need to mind my own damn business, that this guy just wants a quick fuck. Who am I to judge how this woman chooses to support herself? The other part of me—the fierce protector of the female gender—says this is a situation that I can’t ignore. I won’t allow this asshole to force a woman to do something she’s not comfortable with.
I walk over, my legs moving of their own volition.
“Excuse me,” I say, interrupting them.
Her gaze swings over to mine, and the guy she’s with does a double-take. I tower over him by at least half a foot. Now that I have a better look at him, I see the guy is middle-aged, round in the midsection, his hair graying at his temples. I also know I can take him if it comes to that.
He shoots me a look that’s half pissed off that I interrupted his bargaining session, and half panicked that I may kick his ass. The latter is definitely what he should be more concerned about if he tries any shit. I may just decide to do it anyway, despite the fact I just promised my agent I’ll behave myself and not end up on any more tabloid news sites.
“The lady said to leave her alone. I suggest you get the fuck out of here.” I glare down at the guy.
His eyes narrow, but he takes a step back and holds up his palms. “Fine. Going.”
He takes off down the street and disappears around the corner, leaving me standing across from the woman. She’s probably no more than five foot three, a hundred twenty pounds soaking wet. No way she could have defended herself against someone his size. More importantly, she shouldn’t have to defend herself from that prick.
“Were you really going to go home with that guy?”
She shakes her head. “No. He didn’t want to take me home. Just wanted me to show him my boobs and have me give him a hand job in the back seat of his car. He may or may not have mentioned something about finishing himself off on my breasts too.”
I wait to see if she’s joking, but sadly, I can tell what she’s saying is the truth.
Then she looks at me, with the prettiest shade of blue eyes I’ve ever seen, and my heart almost stops. “For the record—guys are gross.”
I chuckle at her surprising honesty. “Not denying that.”
Men can be real creeps. I’ve seen the evening news. Sadly, there’s just no arguing against her logic. Some of us are still good guys, but I don’t say this to her. I just let her believe what she wants.
“I’m Alexei,” I say, offering her my hand.
For a second, she just looks at my hand, and I don’t think she’s going to take it. But then finally, after deciding that she can trust me, at least for something as simple as a handshake, she places her small palm in mine and shakes my hand. She’s freezing.
“I’m Ryleigh. Thanks for, um . . . saving me.”
I haven’t done anything yet. I wanted to punch that guy in the fucking jaw when I heard him propositioning her. Instead, I let him walk away unscathed. Lucky prick.
“Do you work here?” I lift my gaze to the neon sign blazing above our heads in the darkness. I scrub a hand over my face as I picture the petite woman standing before me scantily clad and serving drinks to a group of horny men with grabby hands and fat wallets.
“You a stripper, then?” I ask.
Ryleigh makes an annoyed sound in her throat. “It’s a topless bar. I’m not a stripper.”
I knew as much, but part of me didn’t want to admit I’ve been a customer at the place. It’s not exactly a classy establishment. “But you serve drinks in your underwear.”
“As I said, men are gross. Sadly, they also pay my bills.”
I chuckle, again surprised by her. “I’m not denying it. And not that you asked for it, but in my point of view, men are visual creatures. And women are beautiful. We enjoy seeing them any chance we can get.”
She merely rolls her eyes, clearly not buying my bullshit. “Listen, as nice as it is to freeze my lady balls off and stand out here talking to you, I need to find a way to get home.”
“Where’s your ride? I can wait with you.” The words just stumbling out of my mouth before I can think about it.
“My car’s in the shop, and my friend bailed on giving me a ride.”
I nod, processing everything. Something also tells me she needs that three hundred bucks the guy was offering her. I take a deep breath, weighing my options. It’s either go home alone to my $6 million penthouse and lie awake wondering if she’s okay . . . or drive her home myself and convince her to just take the money I have in my wallet. It’s not like I need it.
As tired as I was walking out of my dinner meeting with Slate, now I’m way too keyed up for sleep. It’s then that I realize going home alone would be pointless.
“Is that what you needed the money for? Your car?”
Her inquisitive blue gaze meets mine, and for a second, I think she’s going to deny that she needs the money. She’ll probably try to save face by telling me I read the situation wrong, and she was never actually entertaining that scumbag’s offer.
Instead, she surprises me for the third time in five minutes.
“No. Well, yes. But not tonight. My immediate concern is getting home and taking care of my roommate’s baby.”
“Baby?” I ask, lifting one eyebrow.
She nods, tucking a long strand of silky brown hair behind her ear. “My ex-roommate, actually. She, um, dropped off her baby a few days ago and left. I have no idea when she’s coming back. I need to pick up diapers, more clothes, and baby formula. All of that stuff costs money.” Ryleigh straightens, her posture stiffening, like she’s revealed too much. “You know what, don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out. I always do.”
“Where’s the baby now?” It’s after midnight, after all. But no matter how late it is, I’m not letting her walk away just yet.
“My neighbor is babysitting her so I could work.”
Something inside me believes Ryleigh’s telling the truth. Even though the last thing I want to do tonight is deal with a sad woman who has what sounds like more drama than an episode of Law & Order, with an even more unusual twist of playing nanny for someone’s baby, I find myself gesturing toward my car. My black Mercedes is parked right across the street.
“I’ll take you.”
She narrows her eyes. “I don’t even know who you are. Why would I trust you?”
I don’t point out that she was just considering getting into the car of a complete stranger. Or that she was considering doing unsavory activities with said stranger. I could tell her it’s because I grew up with three sisters, and I have a big heart. I could tell her that I have six nieces and nephews, that I’m good with babies. I could even hand her my business card and tell her she could ruin me with one call to the media about how I tried to pick her up outside a nightclub. But I don’t say any of those things. Instead, I find myself wanting her to trust me on instinct alone.
I finally settle on, “Because I’m offering to help you. No strings.”
“No strings, as in I don’t have to show you my boobs?”
I almost choke on the laugh that crawls up my chest. “Only if you want to, but remember . . . we men are visual creatures.” I offer her my best playboy smirk, the one that usually makes women swoon, only to find it has no effect on Ryleigh.
Maybe it’s because she doesn’t know who I am, but she treats me differently than the women I usually meet, as if I’m a regular guy and not a famous millionaire sports star who easily melts women with simply a smile.
Ryleigh has no idea that I’m Alex Ivan, pro football player for the Chicago Hawks. She doesn’t swoon and bat her eyelashes or try to impress me. In fact, she doesn’t follow any of the normal protocols. Clearly, she’s not a gold digger, because if she were, she could talk me out of way more than three hundred bucks. An even bigger part of me knows I could add several zeroes behind that figure, and she’d need every damn dime.
“Fine. I’ll take the ride. But it’s going to be a hard pass on the boobs.”
“Whatever you want.”
The truth is, she’s gorgeous, and if she wanted to share her body with me, I’d jump at the fucking chance. But something about her no-nonsense demeanor tells me that’s not going to happen, which is probably for the best. I don’t have time to get tangled up in something right now, anyway. I have to focus on myself and my career now more than ever.
After another moment’s hesitation, Ryleigh looks back at the club one last time, and then to my car. I can see the moment she makes up her mind, letting out a soft sigh.
“Don’t make me regret this,” she mutters under her breath before she follows me to my car.
I hit the button on the key fob to start the engine, then unlock the doors. When we slide inside, I turn up the heat and direct the vents toward her.
“Thank you,” she says, buckling her seat belt. “Nice car.” Her gaze lingers on the sleek wood paneling, supple leather, and chrome fixtures.
“Thanks,” I murmur, suddenly feeling a little sheepish about the opulence of my luxury sedan while she has to consider back-alley propositions just to feed her baby. No, not her baby, her ex-roommate’s baby, which makes this entire situation even crazier. I shift into drive and pull out onto the road. “So, where to?”
“Oh, right.” Ryleigh rattles off her address, and I wince.
A New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author of more than two dozen titles, Kendall Ryan has sold over 2 million books and her books have been translated into several languages in countries around the world.
Her books have also appeared on the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists more than three dozen times. Ryan has been featured in such publications as USA Today, Newsweek, and InTouch Magazine.
She lives in Texas with her husband and two sons.
There was nothing wrong with being the crazy cat lady.
At least that’s what I told myself after twenty-three years of being blatantly single.
A girl’s self esteem could only take so many hits before carbs, Netflix, and cats became her sole loves in life. After all, cats didn’t judge how much pizza you could eat in one sitting.
But then Caleb Winters had to wedge his way into my life by bribing me with chocolate and my cat with toys. And before I knew it, my cat was too attached to let him go.
And, okay, maybe I wasn’t keen on the idea either.
There were only a few things that I considered necessities in my life. Reese’s cups, classic rock, and destroyed skinny jeans. Not really in that order, but all important nonetheless.
Unfortunately, the more Reese’s I ate, the less likely I’d be able to keep fitting into my skinny jeans. I refused to buy a bigger size, so I made sure to shake what Mama gave me to classic rock anytime I wasn’t shoving my thighs into spandex workout pants to exercise outside of my two jobs.
Did I love my body? Not all the time. In fact, I would love to shed a few pounds, trim my thighs, and get rid of the small rolls that folded over my stomach. But I loved chocolate more, specifically chocolate that covered creamy, delicious peanut butter. Therefore, the thighs stayed.
At least they were good for catching fallen food. And that, well, that happened way too often. Light colored jeans? Forget it. My parents jokingly bought me a month supply of Tide To-Go pens for any occasion. I’d gone through two of them since they’d given them to me two months ago. Was I going to admit that to them? Nope.
Just as Aerosmith’s “Walk This Way” came on, the washing machine ended its cycle, alerting me to switch the load.
It wasn’t until I was bent down grabbing the last full laundry basket from the floor when I felt somebody else in the room. Assuming it was one of my coworkers, I didn’t think much about it. Between the song I was dancing along to and the laundry I was prepping to put into the dryer, I just ignored whoever was standing behind me. Everyone who worked at Lakeview knew that I usually had music blaring while I worked. It made the time pass faster.
Of course, ignoring whoever it was wasn’t easy, with my backside on fire from somebody staring at it. Looking over my shoulder, I caught a man I’d never seen before looking at my ass with a smirk on his irritatingly attractive face. One of his dark eyebrows, ones that matched the color of his dirty blond hair, was raised and his icy blue eyes shone brightly.
“Would you like another few minutes to look at my ass or are you done?” I snapped, lips twitching. I stood up, turning to him, and brushed my frizzy brown hair out of my face to get better look at him.
My reaction caused his other eyebrow to go up, and now his smirk was more like an amused grin. And I hated to admit it but seeing him smile like that made him more attractive. Even if he was a perv for watching me while my ass was in the air.
“Actually,” he said casually, “I wouldn’t mind another few minutes.”
I gaped at him for a split second before gathering my bearings. “Guests aren’t allowed to be in here. If you’re looking for help, you need to go to the front desk.”
He didn’t say anything. In fact, he pressed his lips together like he was trying to suppress an even wider smile. It gave me time to note how tall he was. I guessed six-three or six-four, his head almost grazing the top of the door jamb where he stood at the step of the maid’s closet. Being five-two, I didn’t have that problem.
I put a hand on my hip. “Do you need help finding the office? It’s not that difficult to find, you know.”
He chuckled. “Is this usually how you treat paying customers?”
“Only the ones who blatantly stare at my ass like they have nothing better to do.”
“Don’t be offended, sweetheart. It’s a nice ass, hence why I was staring at it. I mean, it was hard to miss being all up in the air like that. And I’m a man. I notice things like that. Take an interest in it quite frankly.”
“Staring at girls’ asses? Or mine?”
He leaned his shoulder against the door frame, the white t-shirt he wore stretching around his impressive biceps. He worked out. He had to. Even his clean-shaven jawline was defined in a way that was…
I snapped myself out of the stare down, because he was still there watching me check him out. Was I drooling? I wouldn’t put it past myself. All those muscles—
Ugh. Sometimes life wasn’t fair. It shouldn’t be legal for guys urled in my flip-flips.
“You’re…” I cleared my throat. “I don’t care if you’re a paying customer or not. If my boss finds out anybody is harassing staff, she’ll kick you out.”
The amused grin was back on his face. “I never said I was a paying customer.”
My eyes widened. “You do realize that just makes you sound creepier, right?”
He went to say something, but before he could, Iris walked up beside him, playfully boxing his arm like she was Sylvester Stallone in Rocky. She looked between us, a chipper expression lighting her face.
“You met!” she cheered, bouncing next to the guy and bumping their shoulders together. Her five-one frame was amusing to see next to him, because she only came half-way up his chest. Despite being vertically challenged, she was one of the most terrifying people I knew.
I snuck a peak at him, noticing the familiarity of his eyes when I glanced back at Iris. They shared the same round shape, thick lashes, and crystal blue color.
“Uh…not really.” I frowned, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
Sensing my discomfort, Iris slapped his arm. “Caleb, what did you do to her?”
Caleb? Why did that sound familiar?
Then it struck me. Their resemblance and sarcasm were too much alike to be a coincidence.
“What makes you think I did something, sis?” Caleb asked innocently.
Iris looked at me apologetically. “I’m sorry, Paisley. My brother can be an ass sometimes, but he means well.”
Caleb’s interest piqued at the announcement of my name, which could only mean that Iris mentioned me to him. After all, she was trying to set us up.
I had the uncanny ability to attract men like him—the overconfident and arrogant. People accused me of being too picky when it came to dating, but they hadn’t met the past boys who drove me to being the cat lady. Caleb Winters would only be number six. Just a number.
“So, this is Paisley?” Caleb inquired, looking at me again like he was seeing me for the first time. I wondered what he saw. My freckled cheeks? Pointed nose? Porcelain skin? It would lol
I deadpanned. “No, I’m Jessica. Your sister just likes calling me random names sometimes. Livens things up a bit.”
He tilted his head back and laughed. It was deep and throaty, and the way his chest rumbled made his muscles more prominent through the tight material of his shirt.
Abs. He had freaking abs.
“Yep, she was right. I like you.”
I crossed my arms on my chest. “Yeah? And what if I don’t like you?”
Iris sighed heavily. “Seriously, Caleb. I left you alone for, like, five minutes. How much damage have you already caused?”
He shrugged. “She caught me staring at her ass. If it makes you feel better, I said it was a nice one.”
Iris shook her head. “You’re an idiot, but I guess I knew that already.” She turned her focus to me. “Excuse my brother, he’s such a guy. He’s right though, you have a nice ass.”
I felt my cheeks redden. Traitorous bitch.
“Well…” I fidgeted with a few fallen strands of hair. “Thanks, I guess.”
Caleb answered. “You’re welcome.”
I eyed him. “I wasn’t talking to you,” I informed him coolly.
Iris frowned. “Paisley, Caleb is—”
Caleb cut her off. “Awesome. Sometimes socially awkward. Usually the latter is just around pretty women. That’s a compliment, by the way.”
Iris snorted. “You didn’t need to point that out, dumbass.”
His head bobbed from side to side, contemplating his reply. “I’ve been called worse. The point is, I like you. You listen to decent music, you’re a smart ass, and you have a nice ass. Total package.”
“What if I’m really a raging bitch?” I quipped, narrowing my eyes.
“Iris wouldn’t try setting me up with a raging bitch. Or any type of bitch. She likes you. She said I’d like you.”
I grimaced, eying Iris. “What else have you q“I need to finish this laundry before I head out. But it was—”
I stopped myself, not willing to lie. I wasn’t going to say it was nice to meet him. Nice to stare at his muscles sure, but that was about it.
Iris snorted, shoving her brother again. “I can’t believe you messed this up in less than five minutes. That’s a record for you.”
Caleb just grinned, like it didn’t bother him. I knew guys like him—arrogant. He loved the chase. It didn’t matter if I wanted to be chased or not, I was a challenge.
And the thing about challenges and me? We didn’t get along, just like I was sure Caleb and I wouldn’t. He was going to hurt me like the others. While I was just as much to blame for the past failures that plagued my conscious, it still hit me hard.
I turned toward Iris. “Thanks for thinking of me, but I’m not interested in being set up.”
Her face screwed. “With Caleb or in general? How long has it been since you’ve been la—”
“Whoa!” I cut her off, eyes cutting to her brother. His lips wavered, like he was trying to hold back laughter. But there’s obvious interest in his eyes.
“Don’t stop on my account,” he pressed, crossing his arms across his chest. “How long has it been, Paisley?”
My brows pinched when he said my name. It rolled off his tongue in a way that had my palms clammy, and I hated it. I hated the prickling tingles in my fingertips when our eyes locked and how hollow my stomach got. Feeling like I was going to cave to the old version of myself made me worry about everything I built to become who I am now. Strong. Cautious. Independent.
Glaring at him, I said, “That’s none of your business.” I look back at Iris. “I have to finish this, so we’ll talk later?”
She blew out a breath. “Yeah, okay. Come on, Caleb. I’ll go introduce you to everybody else. Don’t make an ass of yourself any more than you already have.”
He chuckled as she pulled him back. She was tiny compared to him in every way possible. But he let her drag him away with little fight despite the foot height difference between them.
“I’ll see you later, Paisley,” he purred, winking at me.
I straightened my spine. “Don’t count on it.”
My love for the written word led me to obtain a bachelor’s degree in English and soon a master’s in education to teach college classes.
Pre order your copy today for 99 cents!
Bria du Mont and Damien du Sky have been in love for as long as they can remember. Neighbors and best friends since childhood, they planned to be together forever.
That is until Damien seeks to propose to Bria on her eighteenth birthday and finds her in bed with another man.
Bria has no memory of how she ended up in that situation, but Damien still leaves her. Traumatized by his departure, she develops broken heart syndrome and becomes emotionally numb in her search for closure.
Meanwhile, Damien drowns his pain in alcohol before becoming a ruthless CEO and a playboy who refuses to let himself love again.
Prisoners of their past, Bria and Damien prove incapable of staying away from each other. They dig deeper into the fateful night which tore them apart and uncover secrets which will threaten all they know and challenge the meaning and strength of true love.
“Why are you saying goodbye, then, Bria?”
“Because goodbye is all there is left to say.”
He sighs. I sigh. I conclude we are too good at it.
“How many more goodbyes, Bria? We’ve said them over these seven years with words, and we said them with acts. Shall we say them once more? Which one will it be this time? Say it with your heart, and I promise you I’ll find it in me to accept it. Say it with your soul and mean it, and only then will I let you go, even if it is forever this time if this is what you want, baby.”
My defeat surfaces from the deepest corners of my troubled soul. “As usual, you’re asking the impossible. My heart can never say goodbye to you because I gave it to you a long time ago and never took and wanted it back. No goodbye could ever silence the love I have for you, Damien. We can never say goodbye to each other because our hearts will never be in it.”
Drenching blank sheets in feelings.
Nivia Borell is a contemporary romance author, voracious reader, nature lover, star gazer, day dreamer. She spends her nights deciding between getting up to write, and staying in bed and forgetting the assault of her characters on her sleep (the battle is never ending). She has a weakness for tormented characters, second chances, and happy endings.
While writing is her biggest passion, her husband, family, and books are her greatest loves.
For updates, news, and releases be sure to visit Nivia’s official website at www. niviaborell.com.
She loves hearing and connecting with her readers.
Pre order your copy today for early release on November 19!
He was a beautiful nightmare.
Mia Hayes is comfortable with her life as it is.
Boring is good.
Boring is normal.
Boring is safe.
But the thing with boring is it makes temptation all the sweeter.
She was a sweet dream.
Hollis Wilder goes a hundred miles an hour after everything he wants.
Fast is fun.
Fast is crazy.
Fast is dangerous.
But the thing with fast is it keeps you from thinking before you act.
Together they were the notes in their favorite song.
When Mia and Hollis collide—literally—music’s new bad boy can’t help but notice the beautiful red-haired woman with soft curves. She calls to him like a siren, and since the word no isn’t in his vocabulary he’s determined to get what he wants.
The problem is, one night won’t be enough, and the fact that Mia is his mentor’s daughter complicates things royally.
Mia’s the one girl that’s off limits, but she might be the only one he wants for real.
He closes the distance between us swiftly, grabbing my face roughly between his hands. He kisses me quickly, desperately. It’s a bruising kind of kiss. One that leaves a path of flames in its wake.
He lets me go and steps away. “I had to kiss you before I couldn’t for the rest of the evening,” he admits.
I touch my lips where they still tingle from his.
He flashes a cocky smile, pleased with himself for rendering me speechless.
“I know I’m a good kisser, but I didn’t know it was possible to stun you into silence. I’m impressed with myself.”
I snap out of my revelry. “I hope you go home and write about it in your diary.”
“Oh, I will.” He smirks.
“Is it pink and sparkly?”
“Of course—I even hot glued my name in sequins on it and the first page is marked with Future Mr. Mia Hayes.”
Hi. I’m Micalea. Ma-call-e-uh. Weird name, I know. My mom must’ve known I was going to be odd even in the womb. I’ve written a lot of books. Like a lot. Don’t ask me how many, I don’t remember at this point. I have an unhealthy addiction to Diet Coke but I can’t seem to break the habit. I listen to way too much music and hedgehogs have taken over my life.
He was sent to guard her body…but he’s determined to steal it—and her heart—for his own.
An all-new sizzling contemporary romance about an alpha bodyguard protecting his small-town Texas siren from lethal danger—from New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Shayla Black.
Shayla Black is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than sixty novels. For twenty years, she’s written contemporary, erotic, paranormal, and historical romances via traditional, independent, foreign, and audio publishers. Her books have sold millions of copies and been published in a dozen languages.
Raised an only child, Shayla occupied herself with lots of daydreaming, much to the chagrin of her teachers. In college, she found her love for reading and realized that she could have a career publishing the stories spinning in her imagination. Though she graduated with a degree in Marketing/Advertising and embarked on a stint in corporate America to pay the bills, her heart has always been with her characters. She’s thrilled that she’s been living her dream as a full-time author for the past nine years.
Shayla currently lives in North Texas with her wonderfully supportive husband, her teenage daughter, and two spoiled tabbies. In her “free” time, she enjoys reality TV, reading, and listening to an eclectic blend of music.