Saving Mercy by Abbie Roads
Series: Fatal Truth Series
Genre: Dark Romantic Thriller
Publication Date: April 4, 2017
Endurance by Amy Daws releases on March 16th!
He rejected her. She loathes him. Now they have to fool everyone and pretend they actually like each other.
Add to your TBR: http://bit.ly/2lQfeLi
He rejected her. She loathes him. Now they have to fool everyone and pretend they actually like each other.
Tanner Harris has been busy shagging his way through the ladies of east London, but getting caught by the paparazzi buck-naked with his trouser snake in his hands means he’s sowed his last wild oat.
Dr. Belle Ryan once thought Tanner Harris was the perfect kind of bearded bad boy she needed to relieve a bit of stress after her intense job as a surgical fellow, but an icy cold rejection from London’s sluttiest footballer puts the two at each other’s throats.
Fate and a favour conspire to put Tanner and Belle back in each other’s paths and they’re forced to do a lot more than get along to save face and their careers.
Rage turns to passion and tempers run sizzling hot when they realise they aren’t just falling for each other—they’re jumping head first. And neither have the endurance to keep their hands to themselves.
Meet “the other” Harris TWIN in Challenge!
NOW AVAILABLE & Free on Kindle Unlimited (Standalone)
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Amy Daws is a lover of all things British and her London-based love stories bring the incredible city to life on every page. Read all about hot British men, hilarious heroines, and unforgettable and original ensemble casts that pull out all the feels. For more of Amy’s work, visit www.amydawsauthor.com
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Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/author/amydaws
Series: Masters Among Monsters #3
Publication Date: January 26th, 2017
Genre: Paranormal Romance
CHARMED FOR LIFE?
Thanos Agapiou has always been a charmer. For over two millennia, the vampire had no problem acquiring whom and what he wanted with a flash of his handsome smile. He took for granted the boyish good looks he presumed he’d possess for the rest of eternity.
How very wrong he was.
A nearly fatal attack distorted his entire existence. With his appearance now matching the title many have bestowed their kind—monster—he hides away from the world and all of those who know him, including his Ancient, Eton.
Until one night when a stranger draws him out from the shadows.
OR CURSED FOR ETERNITY?
Ever since Paris Antoniou was thrust into a world of vampires, his reality has become stranger than the history and the myths he’s studied for the past decade.
The stunning conclusion to the New York Times Bestseller.
There’s one, unbreakable rule in the game.
Stay collected. Compartmentalize. Think your next move through. Never let your heart dictate your tactics.
The heart is impulsive.
The heart makes bad decisions.
The heart doesn’t see the long game.
Because the heart may have decided to get Adam back, but when the endgame comes, the heart’s going to be the first thing to break.
Adam pulled me to the next door to the left. It opened into a small theater with about two dozen red velvet seats with lights at the bases.
“There was this guy in Marine Park who collected vintage pornography. When he died, one of the clubs uptown took it and preserved it. When all the clubs merged, they reels moved here.”
“We’re going to watch porn together?”
He guided me down an aisle. “Yes.”
“How adventurous of us.” I smiled at him, flirting.
He smiled back a little, but was reserved in his enthusiasm. We sat in the center.
“Now I’m sorry I wore pants,” I said.
The lights dimmed to black. I took his hand, and he paused before dropping our entwined fingers in his lap.
“I’m trying to illustrate something. I want to talk. So I’m glad you wore pants.”
The bullseye countdown appeared. Adam leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and exhaled. They went back to the screen as if all necessary strength had been gathered.
She’s blindfolded, arms tied above her. He’s lashing her.
“These are from the late sixties,” he said as the picture flickered. There was no sound. “The stuff here is very real. There’s no retouching. It’s 16mm, so there’s none of the porny quality of video.”
He’s wrapping her tits in black tape.
“I see,” I said.
He was right. The frame was raw. The beauty of her submission wasn’t on the film. I didn’t feel as though I was watching something. I felt as though I was witnessing something.
He’s clamping her nipples until they’re elongated meat.
“This is called tit torture,” he said matter-of-factly. “Every step of this was worked out beforehand. You’re not seeing the dozen things he’s not doing.” He twisted in his seat to face me. He was backlit, so I couldn’t see his expression. “Give me an adjective. What do you think of it?”
“Is this your thing?”
“Answer me first.”
I loved him. I wanted him. I’d get on my knees and submit to him.
“It’s not my thing.” He sat back and faced the screen. The light flickered on his face. “There’s so much more though.”
He’s putting the business end of a hairbrush in her anus.
I’ve never seen skin that shade of purple.
What is she eating?
In all of them, the submissive may have cried or screamed, but she always came back for more. She kissed the Dominant’s hand or looked at him admiringly. Her lips did a dance of gratitude.
Ten minutes in, I couldn’t hold my questions anymore. “Why are you showing me this? You don’t want to wrap me in duct tape.”
“Someone might. I want you to know what it looks like first.”
“Adam Steinbeck!” I stood and put my fists on my hips. “You fucking shit!”
He crossed his legs, shrugging as if it wasn’t his fault. He just worked here. “What?”
“You’re trying to scare me.”
“I’m trying to inform you.”
“To hell with this. I’m going out there right now and getting someone to fuck me with a wooden spoon.”
I stomped down the aisle. He grabbed my arm. I spun around to face him. Behind him, a woman was getting choked, and every time she breathed, the ecstasy on her face was unmistakable.
“Let go of me,” I growled.
“Look at it. You weren’t meant for this.”
But he was? But Serena was? Was I too good? Too weak? Too strong? None of that mattered.
“You love me. Say it, Adam.”
“I’m keeping the love I have left.”
“Why can’t you love a submissive?”
“I don’t know.”
“You can’t love weakness?” I asked.
“I said I don’t know.”
“You’re unworthy of a woman who would kneel for you?”
“What do you want out of me?”
He was hurting me. I jerked my arm away, and he let go.
“I want you to leave me for a reason. A real reason. I left you because I was unhappy. I thought we were incompatible. You’re leaving me because you asked me to submit to you and I love it. You’re leaving me because you love me a little but not enough. What is all that? It’s not a reason.”
“I’m protecting you!”
“You’re protecting you.”
iBooks ➜ http://bit.ly/SeparationGamesiBooks
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CD Reiss is a New York Times bestseller. She still has to chop wood and carry water, which was buried in the fine print. Her lawyer is working it out with God but in the meantime, if you call and she doesn’t pick up she’s at the well hauling buckets.
Born in New York City, she moved to Hollywood, California to get her master’s degree in screenwriting from USC. In case you want to know, that went nowhere but it did give her a big enough ego to write novels.
She’s frequently referred to as the Shakespeare of Smut which is flattering but hasn’t ever gotten her out of chopping that cord of wood.
If you meet her in person, you should call her Christine.
He doesn’t love me.
Our relationship wasn’t supposed to have strings.
Now he’s almost all I think about.
He changed everything.
I’m not ready to tell him.
There’s a chance he’ll blame me when I do.
I don’t know if I can trust him but I’m afraid to face the future alone.
Will he ever love me, or will he always love me not?
New York Times & USA Today bestselling author with 13 books out and many more to come. She was born and raised in Alexandria, Virginia. Ever the mild-manner citizen, Carey spend her days working in the world of finance, and at night, she retreats into the lives of her fictional characters.
Supporting her all the way are her husband, three sometimes-adorable children, their nine-pound attack Yorkie and their needy Ninja cat.
Life As We Know It by J.D. Hollyfield releases Fall 2016!
Add to your TBR here: http://bit.ly/2ald2nF
Life has not been easy for Penelope Summers. Specifically, the last month, when her high-profile boyfriend dumped her, her indecent exposure record surfaced, and her favorite thing in the world, tequila, failed her.
Good thing for Penelope, she has her best friend to pick her up, and take her on the vacation of a lifetime. A seven-day cruise that will change the direction of her downward spiral. But will that spiral shift in the direction Penelope needs? Or will it throw her into a bigger whirlwind of trouble?
With Reckless Abandon as her motto, tequila as her wingman, and a hot one-night stand as her much needed reward, will the tables finally turn for Penelope, or will life as she knows it continue to fail her?
Sometimes you just have to ride the wave of crazy to find out.
He’s staring at me with those eyes. Those scorching eyes screaming want in all sorts of languages.
“I am going to ask you this once, and if you say no, I will not ask again. But I think you and I may be on the same page here. So here it goes. Would you like to get out of here and continue this in my room?”
Wait, what was that? Sorry, I couldn’t hear the question over the sounds of Jackpot baby!
Right now, I am going to admit that I’m about to make some impromptu decisions. I only live once. And I deserve this. I deserve to get banged beyond belief by this totally hot guy. If he wants a ride, I swear to all that’s mighty I am going to give it to him. I may wake up and realize this was a huge error in my judgment, but right now I couldn’t care less. I will never see him again so who cares. My vagina has already started walking to his room, so I might as well just catch up with her.
“Yeah. Let’s get outta here.”
Creative designer, mother, wife, writer, part time superhero…
J.D. Hollyfield is a creative designer by day and superhero by night. When she is not trying to save the world one happy ending at a time, she enjoys the snuggles of her husband, son and three doxies. With her love for romance, and head full of book boyfriends, she was inspired to test her creative abilities and bring her own story to life.
Life in a Rut, Love not Included is her Debut Novel. J.D. Hollyfield lives in the Midwest, and is currently at work on blowing the minds of readers, with the additions to the Love not Included series, along with her charm, humor and HEA’s.
A TRUE STORY told through the voice of New York Times Bestselling author E.K. Blair.
She’s an author.
She’s a mother.
She’s a wife.
She’s a fraud.
A woman marked and bound by her own deceit, this is the astounding tale of how one choice knocked her world from its axis forcing her to battle through a year of scandal and betrayal, blurring the lines between reality and fantasy.
This is an intoxicatingly risqué stand-alone true story tangled in lust, heartbreak, and contrition.
“A scandalous tell-all and cautionary tale penned by E.K. Blair but based on the true-life story of another romance author. Author Anonymous is based entirely on real events that transpired in the life of another New York Times best-selling romance author. Blair was approached by Anonymous to pen the work, as it was perceived as too illicit, and possibly too damning, for Anonymous to write herself.” -New York Daily Post
This book literally stole my breath and made my heart pound. It’s one of the most beautifully brutal, completely raw, emotional reads you will ever experience.
I love E.K. Blair. I’ve been a fan of her words since her first book, and the way she told this woman’s story, makes you feel like you’re there, experiencing everything first hand.
Going into this book, I had no idea how this author was going to portray herself? Was she going to come across as a victim of circumstance? As a self-destructive individual set to bring everything crashing down around her? She was neither, and I can actually empathize with her.
It’s very easy to see how she got caught up in everything that happened. And she accepts full responsibility for her actions. There were several points where I was literally saying “Don’t do it. Say no!” There were several points where I wanted to shake her and tell her to wake up. And there were several points where my heart broke for her, strictly as a woman.
I have no doubt that people will read this book and criticize her. It’s so easy for us to pass judgement for the words that are on the page, knowing that this is not a work of fiction. I also think that once they step back, take a deep breath and process this authors story, they will see she could be any one of us. Except she’s more brave than any of us will probably ever be because she decided to stand up and admit her sins to the world.
Author Anonymous will take you on a very uncomfortable, thought provoking, soul-searching journey. I hope wherever Anonymous is, she finally has peace with herself.
New York Times, USA Today, and International Bestselling Author
E.K. Blair, takes her readers on an emotional roller coaster with her dynamic and intense writing style. Noted for her ability to create fleshed-out characters that will evoke a realm of reactions, you can be assured that her stories will linger with you far beyond the last word.
A former first grade teacher with an imagination that runs wild. Daydreaming and zoning out is how she was often found in high school. Blair tends to drift towards everything dark and moody. Give her a character and she will take pleasure in breaking them down, digging into their core to find what lies underneath.
Aside from writing, E.K. Blair finds pleasure in music, drinking her Starbucks in peace, and spending time with her friends. She’s a thinker, an artist, a wife, a mom, and everything in between.
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NEVER MISS ANOTHER RELEASE by E.K. BLAIR
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Viewing Room Rules:
The rules of Society X are simple . . . break them and you’re out.
Rule #1 – No names
It doesn’t matter if you want to know, it’s forbidden.
Rule #2 – No exchanging numbers
It doesn’t matter if you want to call, it’s forbidden.
Rule #3 – Everything is to remain strictly anonymous.
It doesn’t matter if you want to tell, it’s forbidden.
Whatever your desire.
Whatever your fantasy.
The Viewing Room will make it happen.
For Kennedy Vaughn, it’s an escape.
For Hunter Miles, entering the Viewing Room means he’s been selected.
What you witness in the viewing room will have you asking for more . . .
Viewing Room will release on September 6th.
“Kennedy, do you mind sitting in the chair?” Max asks.
I turn to look at him and then focus on the chair. I can do this. After joining him up on stage, I take a seat.
Kneeling down in front of me, he smiles. “If you ever feel uncomfortable, all you have to do is say stop. We’re not going to do something you don’t want.”
“Are you ready?” Closing my eyes, I nod. The lights dim but when I open my eyes, I can’t see the couch. The lights above have hidden them from sight, making it feel like I’m the only one in the room. Music starts to play and it’s no shock that “Pony” by Ginuwine is the song choice. It’s the perfect one to set the mood.
I can feel someone behind me and then their warm hands caressing my shoulders. The smell of his cologne drifts to my nose and I gasp. Is it the guy I talked to in the club? Heart racing, I wait for him to face me, but he stays behind me, his mouth so close to my ear.
“Are you ready, Kennedy?” he murmurs. I suck in a breath and freeze. It is him. He circles around me, his dark eyes full of heat. “Are you?” he repeats.
He moves closer, straddling my legs with his hard cock pressed between my breasts. Sliding lower, his body shields me from view as he settles between my thighs. His hand slides under my skirt and he smirks, knowing the others can’t see what he’s doing. What’s exciting is that I’m actually letting him do it. I want him to touch me. If the others weren’t in the room, there’s no telling what I’d allow him to do. My body craves a man’s touch.
He pushes his hand farther up my skirt, his middle finger skimming across my underwear. My skin’s on fire and I know he can feel the wetness between my legs. Groaning low, he gently nips my breast through my shirt.
“How ’bout we give ’em a show?” he asks, murmuring the words.
All I can say is ‘okay’ and then I’m in his arms. He carries me over to the bed and lays me down, covering my body with his. His hips move against mine as if we’re having sex and in my mind I can just imagine us doing it. With his back to my friends, he lowers his underwear so I can see his arousal. My whole body trembles and I want desperately to feel him inside of me. He slides his hands up my legs and pulls down my underwear, breathing in my scent. The song is almost over but yet I want more. It feels like I’m high, drugged up on sex and lust. When the music stops, the room is dead silent except for our breathing. Hunter’s chest rises up and down, his eyes wild and unsatisfied. At least he looks how I feel.
“Do you still think I’m gay?” he asks, whispering the words.
A small smirk spreads across my lips. “Maybe. It’s a shame you can’t prove otherwise.”
The lights brighten and he slides off my body. Grabbing his robe, he puts it on and backs slowly away. “Until next time …”
I watch him walk away, my heart pounding against my chest. I’ve never been so exhilarated in all my life. Thunderous steps pound toward me, and then Sara appears in my line of sight, fanning herself. “Holy shit, I can’t believe you did that. It was so hot.”
“Yes it was. And I really want to do it again.”
Chris and Max both chuckle. “She’s addicted now,” Chris says. “Looks like you have a new member.” He’s completely, and without a doubt, right. I’m addicted and I want more … a lot more.
Now Available for Pre-order!
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L.P. Dover, is a southern belle residing in North Carolina along with her husband and two beautiful girls. Before she even began her literary journey she worked in Periodontics enjoying the wonderment of dental surgeries.
Not only does she love to write, but she loves to play tennis, go on mountain hikes, white water rafting, and you can’t forget the passion for singing. Her two number one fans expect a concert each and every night before bedtime and those songs usually consist of Christmas carols.
Aside from being a wife and mother, L.P. Dover has written countless novels including her Forever Fae series, the Second Chances series, the Gloves Off series, the Armed & Dangerous series, the Royal Shifters series, and her standalone novel, Love, Lies, and Deception. Her favorite genre to read is romantic suspense and she also loves writing it. However, if she had to choose a setting to live in it would have to be with her faeries in the Land of the Fae.
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author
International Bestselling author
You can find her here:
Originally from the Pacific Northwest, she now lives in picturesque Vermont, with her husband and two daughters. Also renting space in their home is an over-hyper Beagle/Jack Russell, Buttercup and a Highland West/Mini Schnauzer, JiLL and her brother, Racicot.
When she isn’t writing one of the many stories planned for release, you’ll find her sitting court-side during either daughter’s basketball games
Heidi’s first novel, Forever My Girl, is currently in production to be a major motion picture.
NYT & USA Today Bestselling Author
The British are HERE!
Are you ready for Filthy English?
Add to your TBR for a July 11th release here: http://bit.ly/28MpTlk
A smokin’ hot British player…
A jilted girl…
One night of mistaken identity…
Two weeks before her wedding, Remi Montague’s fiancé drops her faster than a drunken sorority girl in stilettos. Armed with her best friend and a bottle of tequila, she hops a plane to London to drown her sorrows before fall semester begins at Whitman University.
She didn’t plan on attending a masquerade party.
She sure didn’t plan on waking up next to the British bad boy who broke her heart three years ago—the devastatingly handsome and naked Dax Blay. Furthermore, she has no clue how they acquired matching tattoos.
Once back at Whitman together, they endeavor to pretend they never had their night of unbridled passion in London.
But that’s damn hard to do when you live in the same house…
One night. Two damaged hearts. The passion of a lifetime.
*A modern love story inspired by Romeo and Juliet*
Plain and simple, this night sucked.
Sadly, it was my honeymoon.
I sighed heavily and gazed around Masquerade, an intimately lit London nightclub where everyone wore black domino masks, some elaborate and some plain, to hide their identity. A few die-hards even sported dark clothing with long, loose cloaks. Not me though. I’d gone modern with a slinky little number and three-inch heels, putting my height at nearly six feet. Yep, I’m the giant in the blue dress, towering over every girl and some guys at the bar.
My top teeth dug into my bottom lip as I gazed around the smoky club, my eyes bouncing off random faces. Even in a room full of party people, music, and strobe lights, I was lonely.
My groom was missing.
That’s right. Hartford Wilcox, Jr., aka Mr. Nice Guy at Whitman University in North Carolina, had jilted me two weeks before the big wedding day as we had dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant, Mario’s.
And now here I was—on my honeymoon and getting trashed with my best friend Lulu who’d decided to skip her beach vacation and come with me at the last minute.
She poked me with her finger as we sat in front of the heavy wooden bar of the club. “Hey, Earth to Remi, get that glazed look out of your eyes and order a drink already. I’m thirsty.” She fluffed her pixie-cut pink hair and straightened her black tutu, eyes scoping out the club. “Dang, the men in here are hotter than a billy goat with a blow torch,” she said in her honeyed southern drawl.
I half-heartedly agreed, not really caring, more intent on scanning the bottles behind the bar. “I want tequila,” I murmured. “A whole bottle.”
Her face snapped back to me and her green eyes widened. “Uh-uh. No way. I know what happens when you drink that crap. You either eat a ton of tacos and puke, or you wrap yourself around some cocky bastard with a well-developed tush.”
True. I did love a tight muscular ass.
But I wouldn’t get one tonight.
A short laugh burst out of me, one of those I’m-miserable-but-pretending-to- be-okay-laughs that I’d been doing a lot of lately. For the past two weeks, I’d vacillated between a sobbing mess and an angry woman who became so incensed that “fuck” was the only word that seemed appropriate in any given situation. Going to the post office to mail he dumped me, but thank you anyway cards. Fuck. Going to the wedding venue and not getting the ten thousand dollar deposit back. Fuck. Realizing I was homeless fall semester—which was in two weeks—fuck. Listening to my mother tell me it was my fault. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The bartender delivered my bottle and poured me a shot. I sucked the tequila down while Lulu watched me warily. It tasted like bad decisions and gasoline, but tonight was about forgetting. The sooner the better.
A few minutes later, Lulu went out to dance with a British guy she’d been making eyes at. I sat glumly at the bar, fiddling with my diamond tennis bracelet, rubbing it like rosary beads. I needed to forget Hartford, and according to Lulu, that meant hooking up with someone.
Was she right?
Fate answered in the form of a beautiful man—and by beautiful I mean drop-dead sexy with a backside so delectable and muscular my mouth plopped open.
I snapped my lips shut and adjusted my velvet half-mask—the annoying feathery plumes on the sides kept sticking to my red lipstick—and turned ever so slightly to check him out, not wanting to appear obvious. He slid into the seat next to me, tall and broad with rippling shoulders and a massive frame.
I checked my appearance in a mirror behind the bar, mentally analyzing the odds of a girl like me snagging a hottie like him.
Although no one had ever called me beautiful, I did have two—okay, maybe three—things going for me in the looks department. My shiny, golden-brown hair that hung down in waves to my shoulders, my fluffy “pillow lips” as Lulu described them, and lastly, I had an itsy bitsy space between my two front teeth which were otherwise white and perfect. Lulu claimed the gap lent me an exotic look, like Madonna or Sookie Stackhouse. Whatever. I was a True Blood fan. I went with it.
He shifted on the stool, leaning closer to me. His cologne swirled in the air, the smell of expensive Scotch and musk mingling together to create a heady, slightly dangerous scent. I paused, goosebumps rising on my bare arms. The spicy whiff triggered a distant memory just out of reach.
As slyly as I could, I studied his profile from top to bottom. Like me he wore a black mask, although his was more masculine, not hiding his chiseled, movie star jawline. His lips were carnal and luscious, the bottom more plump than the top with a slight indentation in the middle. As I watched, his tongue swept out and caressed it, his top teeth biting it as if he were deep in thought. He raked a hand through his dark, longish messy hair, held it suspended above his head for a few seconds and then released it, letting it swish back into its tousled yet perfect place.
I tore my eyes away.
Something about him sent loud warning bells ringing in every atom of my body.
Danger, danger. Don’t touch that.
But my gaze would not be denied as I took in the tight black shirt and sculpted chest that was obviously used to the inside of a gym, right down to an arm that looked like it could snap a board in half—or me.
Nice biceps, Mr. Beautiful.
The pièce de résistance was the vivid blue and orange dragonfly tattoo displayed on his left arm. It was larger than my hand and took up most of his bicep. My eyes traced the contours of the design from the papery wings to the multi-faceted eyes. A bold black color outlined the insect, giving it a masculine feel.
True Religion jeans stretched down long legs and ended in a pair of black Converse without socks, giving him a boyish quality that was in direct contrast to the crazy-sexy-bad-boy vibe he had going on.
Maybe. He was the polar opposite of Hartford who was blond, lean, and tattoo-free.
I nibbled on my fingernail. How do I get him to notice little ol’ me?
Just then a redhead with fluffy Farrah Fawcett hair strode up to his stool, bold as brass, wearing a tight, white mini-skirt that barely covered her booty. She brought with her the smell of sweet, cloying perfume, the kind I always got spritzed with at the mall.
She flicked her hair over her shoulder, casually rubbed her finger down his arm and struck up a conversation. Her fake, black lashes—which she’d somehow managed to get outside the eyeholes of her mask—batted. She puffed out her well-developed chest.
He smiled back at her with a wicked grin, his relaxed body language telling me he was confident when it came to women. She whispered in his ear, boobs right in his face, but whatever he said back wasn’t what she wanted to hear because a few ticks later, she crossed her arms, glared at me, and stalked away.
I blinked. What had I done?
Then he turned and pointed his devastating smile at me.
Shit, he’d made eye contact—as much as you could with a claustrophobic mask on.
Was he crazy?
Because if he’d turned down her flirtation, I didn’t have a shot.
I didn’t know how to do the fingers-tip-toeing-up-his-arm-thing and sexy hair flicking. I didn’t know a thing about applying fake eyelashes. I didn’t know how to make my breasts sit up that high. I looked away from him and took another shot, feeling anxious and strangely off-kilter.
Mr. Beautiful ordered a drink from the bartender, his British accent smooth as silk as it washed over me. I froze. I almost knew that voice—deep with soft rounded vowels that made you tingle in your lady parts.
What was it about this guy that had me all jacked up and hot for him?
Hello, tequila, my inner voice said. But it was more than that.
Getting brave, I pivoted on my barstool, and found Mr. Beautiful’s eyes on me once more, searching my face. As if he too recognized the pull between us.
My heart played hopscotch, jumping against my chest. My skin prickled. I shivered.
Did I know him?
It was his voice, the same deep quality, the kind of voice that made you want to hop into his bed and ride him like a cowgirl.
My breath hitched, and I swallowed down the emotion that zipped up my spine whenever I thought of him. He was my one mistake, the time I’d tossed inhibitions and carefully laid plans aside and went with my instincts, only to have them tossed back in my face.
But the man next to me wasn’t Dax. Thank God.
Last spring at the campus-wide end of the year fraternity party with Hartford, I’d seen Dax, and he’d had shorter hair, like always, and zero tattoos. Yeah. No way.
Plus, last I heard, he was in Raleigh where his father lived.
Dax was British. He could have family here. Maybe he got a tattoo?
Nah. I mean, what were the odds of us both being at the same club on the same night in a country where neither of us lived?
I tore my eyes off Mr. Beautiful and waved at a bartender for more limes, but somehow my tennis bracelet snagged on the bodice of my dress, leaving my wrist dangling like a wet dishrag in a most inappropriate place.
I wiggled my arm.
Even went so far as to jerk, but it wouldn’t separate.
Sweat popped out on my forehead. Holding my breath, I twisted and tugged the bracelet, forcing the delicate material in my bodice to stretch beyond normal limits.
“Well, hell,” I breathed, pausing to assess.
Skin-tight with a plunging neckline, the dress was mostly a stretchy fabric held together by sequined straps and a zipper on the side. Slated as part of my honeymoon wardrobe, it was a Tory Burch and had cost four hundred dollars, the most I’d ever paid for a fun outfit, and no way did I want to damage it. I might have to return it to rent an apartment at Whitman.
Lulu. I needed Lulu. She was a whiz with wardrobe malfunctions.
I spun around on the barstool and used my free hand to wave at her, but she was slinging herself around dancing, having a great time and completely oblivious. I resorted to flapping both hands at her, one high and one low. Several people waved back with baffled expressions, but Lulu didn’t notice. Dammit.
I groaned and slumped down in my seat, ready to scream. Now what? Go to the bathroom and repair it there? Good plan.
But the club tilted when I stood, the strobe lights making me squint as they flashed in my face. I wobbled in my leopard print heels—that Lulu had insisted I wear—and grabbed the stool to keep my balance. `
I sucked in a breath to gather myself, but I couldn’t think straight. The room spun, and I was suddenly queasy, and why did I slam all that tequila, and oh my god, my wrist is currently attached to my tit like a T. rex arm.
I had to get out of here before someone noticed what an idiot I was.
Trying to be stealth like, I reached across the bar to get my beaded clutch, but because it was my left hand and not my right that I used most of the time, I got off balance and stumbled—and my ankle folded in on itself. I yelped as my shoe catapulted off my foot and vaulted off toward the dance floor, while I fell forward, straight into Mr. Beautiful’s lap.
Filthy English (unedited excerpt)
Copyright Ilsa Madden-Mills
About the Author
New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.
She’s addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she’s a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.
She has a degree in English and a Master’s in Education.
When she’s not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.
SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:
You can stalk her on her website as well as get signed books: http://www.ilsamaddenmills.com
Pink Shade of Words:
A Fifty Shades of Pink Anthology
K. A. Hunter
Jade C. Jamison
Master Organizer: Glorya Hidalgo
Cover Designer: Regina Wamba
Formatter: Julie Prestsater
Thank You to Everyone who has donated their talents & time to this worthy cause!
Pink Shades of Words is a collaboration of 8 never before seen short stories from 8 New York Times, USA Today, and International Bestselling Authors. These authors come together to bring you a collection of romance that is a must read for book lovers including New Adult, Contemporary, Erotica, and Dark Romance.
Let’s Pretend by Ruth Clampett
Mr. X by Cambria Hebert
Indemnity by K.A. Hunter
Escaping the Cocoon by Jade C. Jamison
Hard Luck by Liv Morris
Filthy Rich (Blackstone DYNASTY 1) by Raine Miller
The Decoy by Emma Nichols
Book Boyfriend by Melanie Shawn
Pink Shades of Words will only be available for purchase from April 1, 2016 to May 31, 2016! So, purchase your copy now!
All proceeds will benefit the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer through the Fifty Shades of Pink team.
All proceeds go to Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. Last year, $3,500 was raised –
Let’s top that this year!