Related to: 'Count down to Nine Kinds of Naughty...'

Headline Eternal

Nine Kinds Of Naughty: Art of Passion 3

Jeanette Grey
Authors:
Jeanette Grey
Headline Eternal

Not Another Bad Date

Rachel Gibson
Authors:
Rachel Gibson

Not Another Bad Date is a deliciously romantic rom-com from New York Times bestseller Rachel Gibson - perfect for fans of Jill Shalvis, Jo Watson and Christina Lauren.They say that opposites attract...which might explain why sexy, successful Adele Harris is such a loser-magnet! Frankly, she attracts so many weridos and nut-jobs that she's beginning to think that she's cursed. And it's about to get worse.When Adele heads home to Cedar Creek, Texas, she runs into her first-ever bad date - the delicious Zach - and it seems he wants a second chance. Like she'd ever let him (big ol' drop-dead-gorgeous him) near her heart again. Uh-huh. No way. Ain't never gonna happen...Check out the rest of Rachel's addictive titles, including Sex, Lies and Online Dating, I'm In No Mood For Love and Tangled Up In You.

What Happens In Vegas . . . stays in Vegas!

August Book of the Month

Rush to meet Ares Kincaid...

February Book of the Month

In the Green Mountain state it's time to fall in love

The short ride into town was full of awkward silence. Sensing his irritation with her, Cameron chose to stay quiet instead of peppering him with questions about the town, the state and what he might know about the Green Mountain Country Store. "You got a name?" he asked. "Cameron." "What kind of name is that for a girl?" Instantly on the offensive, Cameron glared at him."It's the kind of name my parents gave me - and I had it long before Cameron Diaz was famous." "Who?" Astounded, Cameron swiveled in her seat. "Tell me the truth - have I been abducted by aliens? It’s okay. You can give it to me straight. I can take it." “I don’t know about aliens, but I may as well tell you I have no idea who Cliff Clavin is either.” Cameron’s mouth fell open. “The know-it-all mailman from Cheers? One of the top-rated shows of the eighties and nineties?” “So you think I’m a know-it-all, huh?” “You sound rather proud of that.” “Well, you don’t have to be a know-it-all to get that wearing suede boots to Vermont in March isn’t the brightest idea you’ll ever have.” “Pardon my ignorance, but I’ve never been here before.” “All that technology laying in your lap, and you never got the 411 on the mud.” He snorted out a laugh. “Anyone ever tell you that you can be somewhat insufferable?” Arching an eyebrow, he smirked at her. “Only somewhat? I’ve fallen short of my goal.” Exasperated, Cameron shifted to look out the passenger window. “Was it something I said?” She shook her head in disbelief. The guy was too much. “What’s your name anyway?” “Will Abbott.” That got her attention. “Any relation to Lincoln Abbott?” “That’d be my dad. How do you know him?” “I don’t actually know him. Yet. I’m due to meet him tomorrow.” “For what purpose?” “To build a website for his store.” “Damn it!” Will slammed the heel of his hand on the wheel. “I can’t believe him! We told him we didn’t want it!” “We?” Cameron made an effort to keep the waver out of her voice. Would this interminable day ever end? “My siblings and I. We’re his partners.” “Oh.” Since the company had no website, she’d found precious little information about it online and had planned to start from scratch once she got to town. “Let me guess - when he hired you he never mentioned that his children voted against a website.” “Um, no, that didn’t come up.” “This is so typical. He brings one of his big ideas to us, we tell him we aren’t interested, and then he does it anyway.” “If you’re partners, how does he get away with that?” “Because he owns the majority - fifty percent. The other fifty percent is split between the ten of us. Five of us help him run the store and vote proxy for the others. The other fi ve provide a variety of products to the store.” “Ten of you?” “I’m one of ten.” “You have ten kids in your family?” “Yeah, so?” “I’ve never known anyone who had more than four kids in their family.” “Well, now you know someone who has ten.” As an only child, Cameron tried to wrap her head around what it might’ve been like to grow up with nine siblings. “What are their names?” “You want to know the names of my siblings?” he asked, as if that was the stupidest question he’d ever heard. “Yeah, I guess I do. If I’m going to be stuck in the middle of your family feud it would be good to know the people I’m dealing with.” “Feud is kind of a strong word, but we do argue. A lot.” He sighed and tightened his grip on the wheel. “Hunter and Hannah are the oldest. They’re twins.” “Ten kids and twins too?” “Two sets of twins. Lucas and Landon are second from the youngest. They’re identical twins.” “That’s so cool.” He glanced over at her, seeming confounded by her interest in his family. But to Cameron, who’d grown up painfully alone, families like his only existed on the TV shows she’d glommed on to, looking for a family anywhere she could find one. “I’m after Hunter and Hannah. Then comes Ella, Charlotte, Wade, Colton, Lucas and Landon and then Max.” “Wow. That’s a lot of kids.” “Yep.” “Is your mom in an asylum?” His bark of laughter took her by surprise. “Nah. She rolls with it all. I’ve never met anyone as quietly efficient as she is. She always made it look easy.” “How do you make ten kids look easy?” “I don’t know, but somehow she did.” “So which five are involved in the business?” “That’d be me, Hunter, Ella, Charlotte and Wade. Several of the others are involved in businesses that feed products to the store. Colton runs the family sugaring facility that makes maple syrup, and Max helps him out when he’s able to between classes. He’s a senior at UVM. Landon has a woodworking business and oversees the volunteer fi refighting department in town. Hannah makes jewelry. Lucas manages the family’s Christmas tree farm and helps Landon with the fire department. I think that’s everyone accounted for.” “Just out of curiosity— why don’t you and your siblings want a website?” “Because we don’t need one. We have a very nice business just the way it is. A website will bring a bunch of issues we aren’t interested in dealing with.” “Such as?” “We’ll have to hire people to fulfi ll orders, set up a distribution center, figure out shipping. So many headaches.” “But it could grow your business exponentially.” “We don’t want to grow our business. It’s fine the way it is.” He drove into a quaint little New England town with a signature white-steeple church, a volunteer fire department, a combination café and gallery, and there, in the middle of everything, the Green Mountain Country Store. In the dark, it was hard to see much, but it seemed small next to some of the other buildings and boasted a quaint front porch. They were past it before she could ascertain much of anything else. Will pulled into a parking lot behind a large white Victorian house. “Where are we?” “I assume you’re staying at the inn since it’s the only place in town that takes guests.” Cameron pulled out the confirmation message she had printed at home. “The Admiral Frances Butler Inn?” “That’s it.” He cut the engine and got out of the truck. By the time she emerged onto thankfully dry pavement, he’d fetched her luggage from the back. “Can you hand me the black bag? My running shoes are in there.” He retrieved the bag she pointed to and dropped it in front of her. “You don’t have to shoot the messenger, you know,” she said. “What does that mean?” “Just because you’re mad at your dad for hiring me doesn’t mean you have to be cranky with me.” “You were irritating me long before I knew my dad had hired you.” “You’re just full of charm, aren’t you?” she asked as she pulled on sneakers. “So I’m told.” “By who?” He waggled his brows at her. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” “Actually, I really wouldn’t.” “Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug as he led her into the back door of the inn. He seemed to know his way around, so she followed him through a series of hallways to the front desk where he rang the bell on the counter. The place smelled like potpourri and lemon-scented furniture polish. An older woman came through the door wearing a housecoat, pin curlers in her hair and a warm, welcoming smile on her plump face. “Hi, Will. What a nice surprise. What brings you in tonight?” “Hi there, Mrs. Hendricks. I’ve brought you a guest. Cameron . . .” “Oh,” the older woman said, resting a hand on her head as if she just remembered her curlers. “I look a sight.” “You’re pretty as a picture, just like always,” Will said. “Will Abbott,” Mrs. Hendricks said as her face turned bright red, “you could charm a bird out of a tree.” Will sent Cameron a smug smile, as if to say “Told ya so.” Cameron cleared her throat, hoping to remind Mrs. Hendricks that a paying customer was waiting to check in. “Cameron Murphy. Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Hendricks.” The other woman fi nally looked at her and gasped. “Oh my! What happened to your face?” Cameron raised her hands to her face, remembering the moment of impact and how her nose had hurt afterward. “What?” “You have two black eyes,” Mrs. Hendricks said. “And your nose . . .” Alarmed, Cameron looked around for a mirror. “What about my nose?” She walked across the small lobby to a framed mirror and shrieked at what she saw. Her nose was swollen and sure enough, dark bruises were forming under her eyes. “Oh my God!” Turning back to find Will leaning against the counter and Mrs. Hendricks looking on with concern, Cameron marched back over to confront him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Tell you what?” “That my face was all banged up!” “Um, maybe because I figured you’d hardly need me to tell you that something had smacked you in the face.” “It must’ve been the airbag,” she said, remembering that moment of utter blackness. Had she passed out? She’d been ignoring the pain in her face as she tried to get her bearings with Will, but now that they mentioned it, her nose was throbbing rather insistently. “The airbag would also explain the burn on your neck,” Will added. “Burn?” Her voice was a shrill squeak. “What burn?” He leaned in closer to her, and she swore her heart skipped a beat as she caught a whiff of his outdoorsy scent. The touch of his finger on her neck sent a shocking bolt of heat straight through her, landing in a tingle between her legs. What in the name of hell was that about? “There.” As if he’d touched something hot, Will pulled back his hand and straightened out of that insolent slouch he did so well.The two of them stared at each other for a long heated moment. “Was there an accident?” Mrs. Hendricks asked, interrupting the intense interlude. “She hit Fred,” Will said gravely. Mrs. Hendricks brought a hand to her ample chest. “Oh! Is he okay?” “He seemed no worse for the wear,” Will said. “Good thing it was a small car.” “It was a new car!” Cameron said, wondering if anyone in this godforsaken town would care that her adorable little car was no longer adorable. “Well, as long as he’s okay,” Mrs. Hendricks said as if Cameron hadn’t spoken. Then she turned to Cameron. “I can call Doc Edwards for you, if you’d like.” “Thank you, but that’s not necessary.” All Cameron wanted was a warm bath and an ice pack for her throbbing nose. “Could I borrow the phone to call Nolan about her car?” Will asked. “Of course.” Mrs. Hendricks handed him the portable phone, and he dialed a number from memory. While Cameron completed the check-in paperwork and handed over her credit card, Will filled Nolan in on the accident. “Yep, she ran smack into poor old Fred.” A pause. “He seemed fine, but we might want to send the doc after him in the morning to make sure.” Glowering at him, Cameron whispered, “The car. Remember the car?” He met her glower with a scowl. “Now, about the car.” Finally, Cameron thought, signing on the dotted line for Mrs. Hendricks and accepting the key to her third-floor room. Will handed the phone back to Mrs. Hendricks. “Nolan’s going to fetch the car tonight so no one hits it out on the road. He said to check in with him in the morning. The garage is across the street.” Pointing toward the front door. “That way.” “Thank you.” Cameron forced herself to look up at him and all his beauty. “I appreciate your help.” His eyes, she realized were light brown, almost gold. Why did he have to be so spectacularly gorgeous and so outrageously cranky? “You need help getting your stuff upstairs?” The idea of him following her to a hotel room sent more tingling awareness rippling through her. “I can do it.” But before the words were out of her mouth, he was already heading to the stairs with her bags. Uttering a quick thank you to Mrs. Hendricks, Cameron scurried after him. On the third floor, he deposited her suitcases outside Room 18. He stopped so suddenly that Cameron nearly ran into his broad back. Turning, he caught her inches from his chest, and the awareness that had sizzled between them downstairs chose that moment to reappear. Cameron had never experienced such an overpowering need to touch another person. She rolled her hands into fists to keep from acting on the impulse. “Listen,” he said, haltingly, “you seem like a nice enough person.” “Wow, thanks.” Charming? Whatever. His expression turned stormy. “What I was going to say is that things are apt to get a little heated tomorrow at the meeting. Don’t take it personally, okay? Our beef is with him, not you.” “I’m here to do a job. Nothing about this is personal.” “Good,” he said, apparently picking up on her double meaning as she’d hoped he would. “Let’s keep it that way.” “Fine by me.” “You might want to put some ice on your nose,” he said as he headed down the stairs. Too bad he missed the gesture she made at his retreating back.

Molly McAdams chats accents and authors...

March Book of the Month

Discover Every Vow She Breaks...

Discover the thrilling EVERY VOW SHE BREAKS by Jannine Gallant...

May Book Of The Month

It's Kam and Lin in Since I Saw You

*Must be over 18 to read* Kam unglued his gaze from Lin Soong’s mouth with effort. She wasn’t what he’d expected.Not in the slightest. He’d caught her scent as they talked, and his cock had appreciated it even more wholeheartedly than his brain. When she’d moved her hands over her lap, it’d been like mainlining lust into his blood. How could a woman’s hands be so sexy? Watching her primly smooth the cloth napkin over her thighs had momentarily hypnotized him, not to mention made him go dry-mouthed. He couldn’t help but imagine her touching herself while she was completely naked, shapely hands gliding over lithesome thighs . . . between them. She had the most flawless skin he’d ever seen. He’d touched her on purpose. He’d never done that before when just meeting a woman . . . He’d wanted to put his hands on her so much it was like a mandate. He didn’t need to guess that her skin would flow like silk beneath his discovering, hungry hand. She wasn’t built like the women he usually favored - robust, voluptuous women who wouldn’t quail at his demands in bed. No, she had a figure like an elegant wand, all compact, yet lush curves and graceful refinement. Fiercely feminine came to mind as an apt descriptor. Her effortless sense of chic defied description in any language he’d mastered. Her legs were long and shapely beneath the narrow skirt she wore. He hadn’t realized it was possible for a person to possess such a slender waist. If it weren’t for the suppleness of her movements and the sleek strength hinted at by her muscle tone, he’d worry he’d break her in bed. Not that she would ever go to bed with him. That was just his cock spouting off, of course. Still, Kam was practical. He knew the game board had altered ever since he’d seen Lin walk into the restaurant; he just wasn’t sure how it would change yet. He was captivated by even the smallest of her gestures. She was utterly perfect with her clothes on. He could only imagine the raptures of her naked body. Did a woman as graceful and sophisticated as Lin Soong purr in bed, or did she hiss and bare those small white teeth? He mentally cursed his uncontrollable thoughts, reaching for the loaf of warm, crusty bread that Victor had set before them in a basket. What was Ian thinking, sending him a woman that was so gorgeous, she was almost otherworldly? Was Lin Soong the enticement to come around to Ian’s way of thinking? Was Ian trying to prove to Kam there were indescribably worthwhile benefits to wealth and power? No wonder Ian grumbled that every chief executive officer and business mogul on the planet wanted to poach Lin Soong from him. Too late, Kam realized he’d ravaged the bread with his rough hands. He glanced apologetically at Lin. Her face was still and calm as she watched him with large, dark eyes. Against his will, he imagined what it’d be like to have her look up at him with those eyes while his cock was harbored deep inside her, erupting. “Sorry,” he mumbled, taking a piece of the torn loaf for himself and leaving a mangled portion in the basket. “No problem.” She reached and ripped off a piece for herself, those hypnotizing white hands nearly as forceful as his had been. There was something sexy about her actions, knowing she didn’t disdain the place where his fingers had been . . . his touch. Blood pulsed into his cock. He shifted in the uncomfortable chair, grimacing. She picked up her spoon and matter‑of‑factly dipped the edge of her bread in the fragrant broth. Unable to look away, he watched her insert the corner of the bread between her lips and bite. His cock swelled and twitched. He tamped down an almost uncontrollable urge to nip at that mouth. It was small, but her dark pink lips were lush and shapely. Her nostrils flared slightly as she returned his stare and chewed her bread, her expression a strange combination of calm innocence and complete understanding of what he was thinking. Which was ridiculous. A woman like her would take offense at his pornographic thoughts. Wouldn’t she?

October Book of the Month

Be in stitches with Breaking Hollywood...

June Book of the Month

Let your Rainy Day Friends in...

June Book of the Month

A sexy peek of A Pound of Flesh

Lose your heart to Wes Carter - sexy, edgy, behind bars, with emotional scars as permanent as the ink on his skin, just waiting to be healed by love...

June Book of the Month

Will Riley get A Measure of Love?

Read on for an excerpt of the third in Sophie Jackson's stunning A Pound of Flesh series, A MEASURE OF LOVE...

June Book of the Month

Will Riley get A Measure of Love?

Read on for an excerpt of the third in Sophie Jackson's stunning A Pound of Flesh series, A MEASURE OF LOVE...

January Book of the Month

Meet Max in An Ounce of Hope...

Read a gorgeous excerpt from Sophie Jackson's AN OUNCE OF HOPE...

Valentine's Bonus Treat

A Valentine’s treat for fans of Working Girl!

Enjoy this bonus scene from Shana Grey's sexy serial WORKING GIRL!

January Book of the Month

Wanted. You Loved Damien Stark. Now Meet Evan Black.

I know exactly when my life shifted. That precise instant when his eyes met mine and I no longer saw the bland look of familiarity, but danger and fire, lust and hunger. Perhaps I should have turned away. Perhaps I should have run. I didn't. I wanted him. More, I needed him. The man, and the fire that he ignited inside of me. And in his eyes, I saw that he needed me, too. That was the moment that everything changed. Me, most of all. But whether it changed for good or for ill . . . well, that remains to be seen. Even dead, my Uncle Jahn knew how to throw one hell of a party. His Chicago lakeside penthouse was bursting at the seams with an eclectic collection of mourners, most of whom had imbibed so much wine from the famous Howard Jahn cellar that whatever melancholy they’d brought with them had been sweetly erased, and now this wake or reception or whatever the hell you wanted to call it wasn’t the least bit somber. Politicians mingled with financiers mingled with artists and academics, and everyone was smiling and laughing and toasting the deceased. At his request, there’d been no formal funeral. Just this gathering of friends and family, food and drink, music and mirth. Jahn - he hated the name Howard - had lived a vibrant life, and that was never more obvious than now in his death. I missed him so damn much, but I hadn’t cried. Hadn’t screamed and ranted. Hadn’t done anything, really, except move through the days and nights lost in a haze of emotions, my mind numb. My body anesthetized. I sighed and fingered the charm on my silver bracelet. He’d presented me with the tiny motorcycle just over a month ago, and the gift had made me smile. I hadn’t talked about wanting to ride a motorcycle since before I turned sixteen. And it had been years since I’d ridden behind a boy, my arms tight around his waist and my hair blowing in the wind. But Uncle Jahn knew me better than anyone. He saw past the princess to the girl hidden inside. A girl who’d built up walls out of necessity, but still desperately wanted to break free. Who longed to slip on a pair of well-worn jeans, grab a battered leather jacket, and go a little wild. Sometimes, she even did. And sometimes it didn’t end right at all. I tightened my grip on the charm as the memory of Jahn holding my hand - of him promising to keep my secrets - swept over me, finally bringing tears to my eyes. He should be beside me, dammit, and the swell of laughter and conversation that filled the room was making me a little sick. Despite the fact that I knew Jahn wanted it that way, it was all I could do not to smack all the people who’d hugged me and murmured softly that he was in a better place and wasn’t it wonderful that he’d lived such a full life. That was such bullshit - he hadn’t even turned sixty yet. Vibrant men in their fifties shouldn’t drop dead from aneurysms, and there weren’t enough pithy Hallmark quotes in the universe to make me think otherwise. Antsy, I shifted my weight from foot to foot. There was a bar set up on the other side of the room, and I’d positioned myself as far away as physically possible because right then I wanted the burn of tequila. Wanted to let go, to explode through the numbness that clung to me like a cocoon. To run. To feel. But that wasn’t going to happen. No alcohol was passing these lips tonight. I was Jahn’s niece, after all, and that made me some kind of hostess-by-default, which meant I was stuck in the penthouse. Four thousand square feet, but I swear I could feel the art-covered walls pressing in around me. I wanted to race up the spiral staircase to the rooftop patio, then leap over the balcony into the darkening sky. I wanted to take flight over Lake Michigan and the whole world. I wanted to break things and scream and rant and curse this damned universe that took away a good man. Shit. I sucked in a breath and looked down at the exquisite ancient-looking notebook inside the glass and chrome display case I’d been leaning against. The leather-bound book was an exceptionally well-done copy of a recently discovered Da Vinci notebook. Dubbed the Creature Notebook, it had sixteen pages of animal studies and was open to the center, revealing a stunning sketch the young master had drawn - his study for the famous, but never located, dragon shield. Jahn had attempted to acquire the notebook, and I remember just how angry he’d been when he’d lost out to Victor Neely, another Chicago businessman with a private collection that rivaled my uncle’s. At the time, I’d just started at Northwestern with a major in poli sci and a minor in art history. I’m not particularly talented, but I’ve sketched my whole life, and I’ve been fascinated with art - and in particular with Leonardo da Vinci - since my parents took me to my first museum at the age of three. I thought the Creature Notebook was beyond cool, and I’d been irritated on Jahn’s behalf when he not only lost out on it, but when the press had poured salt in the wound by prattling on about Neely’s amazing new acquisition. About a year later, Jahn showed me the facsimile, bright and shiny in the custom-made display case. As a general rule, my uncle never owned a copy. If he couldn’t have the original - be it a Rembrandt or a Rauschenberg or a Da Vinci - he simply moved on. When I’d asked why he’d made an exception for the Creature Notebook, he shrugged and told me that the images were at least as interesting as the provenance. “Besides, anyone who can successfully copy a Da Vinci has created a masterpiece himself.” Despite the fact that it wasn’t authentic, the notebook was my favorite of Jahn’s many manuscripts and artifacts, and now, standing with my hands pressed to the glass, I felt as if he was, in some small way, beside me. I drew in a breath, knowing I had to get my act together, if for no other reason than the more wrecked I looked, the more guests would try to cheer me. Not that I looked particularly wrecked. When you grow up as Angelina Hayden Raine, with a United States senator for a father and a mother who served on the board of over a dozen international nonprofit organizations, you learn the difference between a public and a private face very early on. Especially when you have your own secrets to keep. “This is so goddamn fucked up it makes me want to scream.” I felt a whisper of a smile touch my lips and turned around to find myself looking into Kat’s bloodshot eyes. “Oh, hell, Angie,” she said. “He shouldn’t be dead.” “He’d be pissed if he knew you’d been crying,” I said, blinking away the last of my own tears. “Fuck that.” I almost laughed. Katrina Laron had a talent for cutting straight through the bullshit. I’m not sure which one of us leaned in first, but we caught each other in a bone-crushing hug. With a sniffle, I finally pulled away. Perverse, maybe, but just knowing that someone else was acknowledging the utter horror of the situation made me feel infinitesimally better. “Every time I turn a corner, I feel like I’m going to see him,” I said. “I almost wish I’d stayed in my old place.” I’d moved in four months ago when Uncle Jahn’s aneurysm was discovered. I’d taken time off from work - easy when you work for your uncle. For two weeks I’d played nurse after he came home from the hospital, and when he’d been given the allclear by the doctors - yeah, like that was a good call - I’d accepted his invitation to move in permanently. Why not? The tiny apartment I’d shared with my lifelong friend Flynn wasn’t exactly the lap of luxury. And although I loved Flynn, he wasn’t the easiest person to cohabitate with. He knew me too well, and it always made me uneasy when people saw what I wanted to keep hidden. Now, though, I craved both the cocoon-like comfort of my tiny room and Flynn’s steady presence. As much as I loved the condo, without my uncle, it was cold and hollow, and just being in it made me feel brittle. As if at any moment I would shatter into a million pieces. Kat’s eyes were warm and understanding. “I know. But he loved having you here. God knows why,” she added with a quirky grin. “You’re nothing but trouble.” I rolled my eyes. At twenty-seven, Katrina Laron was only four years older than me, but that didn’t stop her from pulling the older-and-wiser card whenever she got the chance. The fact that we’d become friends under decidedly dodgy circumstances probably played a role, too. She’d been working at one of the coffee shops in Evanston where I used to mainline caffeine during my first year at Northwestern. We’d chatted a couple of times in an “extra cream please, it’s been a bitch of a day” kind of way, but we were hardly on a first-name basis. All that changed when we bumped into each other on a day when extra cream wasn’t going to cut it for me - not by a long shot. It was in the Michigan Avenue Neiman Marcus and I’d been surfing on adrenaline, using it to soothe the rough edges of a particularly crappy day. Specifically, I’d just succumbed to my personal demons and surreptitiously dropped a pair of fifteen-dollar clearance earrings into my purse. But, apparently, not as surreptitiously as I’d thought. “Well, aren’t you the stumbling amateur?” she’d whispered, as she steered me toward women’s shoes. “With a shit technique like that, it’s a wonder you haven’t been arrested yet.” “Arrested!” I squeaked, as if that word would carry all the way to Washington and to my father’s all-hearing ears. The fear of getting caught might be part of the excitement. Actually getting caught wasn’t a good thing at all. “No, I didn’t- I mean-” She cut off my protests with a casual flip of her hand. “All I’m saying is be smart. If you’re going to take a risk, at least make it worth the trouble. Those earrings? Really not the bomb.” “It’s not about the earrings,” I’d snapped, then immediately cringed. The words had been a knee-jerk response, but they were also true. It wasn’t about the earrings. It was about my dad, and the grad school lectures and the career-planning talks, and the never-spoken certainty that no matter what I did, my sister would have done it better. It was about the oppressive, overwhelming weight of my life and my future that was bearing down on me, harder and harder until I was certain that if I didn’t do something to break out a little I’d spontaneously combust. Kat had glanced at my purse as if she could see through the soft Coach leather to the contraband inside. Then she slowly lifted her eyes back to my face. The silence hung between us for a full minute. Then she nodded. “Don’t worry. I get it.” She cocked her head toward the exit. “Come on.” Relief flooded through me, and my limbs that had frozen in both fear and mortification began to thaw. She steered me to her car, a cherry-red Mustang that she drove at more or less the speed of light. She careened down Michigan Avenue, maneuvered her way onto Lake Shore Drive, and came so close to the other cars as she zipped in and out of traffic that I’m surprised her convertible didn’t lose a layer of paint. In other words, it was freaking awesome. The top was down, the wind was whipping my hair into my face and mouth, and all I could do was tilt my head back and laugh. Kat risked our lives long enough to shoot me one sideways glance. “Yeah,” she said. “We’re going to get along just fine.” From that moment on, I’d adored Kat. Now, with Jahn’s death sending my universe reeling, I realized that I not only loved her - I relied on her. “I’m really glad you’re here,” I said. “Where else would I be?” She scanned the room. “Are your mom and dad around somewhere?” “They can’t make it. They’re stuck overseas.” The familiar numbness settled over me again as I remembered my mother’s hysterical sobs and the deep well of sorrow that had filled my father’s voice when he’d learned about his half-brother. “I hated calling them,” I whispered. “It felt like Gracie all over again.” “I’m so sorry.” Kat had never met my sister, but she’d heard the story. The public version, anyway, and I knew her sympathy was real. I managed a wavering smile. “I know. That means a lot to me.” “The whole thing sucks,” Kat said. “It’s so unfair. Your uncle was too damn cool to die.” “I guess the universe doesn’t give a shit about coolness.” “The universe can be a raving bitch sometimes,” Kat said. She exhaled loudly. “Want me to crash here tonight so you won’t be alone? We could stay up late getting so wasted that there’s no way in hell either one of us will dream.” “Thanks, but I think I’ll be okay.” She eyed me uncertainly. She was one of the few people I’d confided in about my nightmares, and while I appreciated the sympathy, sometimes I wished I’d kept my mouth shut. “Really,” I said earnestly. “Kevin’s here.” “Oh, yeah? And how’s that going? Engaged yet?” “Not quite,” I said wryly. I supposed we were dating since I’d slept with him twice, but so far I’d dodged the let’s-be-exclusive conversation. I wasn’t sure why I was so reticent. The sex wasn’t mind-blowing, but it did the job. And I did genuinely like the guy. But I’d spent the last few months holding him at arm’s length, telling him I needed to keep my attention on Jahn’s surgery, then his recovery. Obviously, I hadn’t planned on his sudden death. How horrible was it of me to think that now Jahn was gone, I had no more excuses to hand Kevin? Beside me, Kat craned her neck and scoped out the crowd. “So where is he?” “He had to go take a call. Technically, he’s working today.” “What are you going to do now?” Kat asked. “About Kevin?” Honestly, I was hoping to avoid doing anything on that front for the foreseeable future. “About your job,” she countered. “About the roof over your head. About your life. Have you thought about what you’re going to do?” “Oh.” My shoulders sagged. “No. Not really.” My job in the PR department of Jahn’s company might pay my bills, but it was hardly my life’s ambition, and Kat was one of the few people to whom I’d confessed that deep, dark secret. Right then, however, that wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have. Fortunately, something across the room had caught Kat’s attention, effectively erasing my lack of direction and purpose from her mind. She stood slightly straighter and the corners of her mouth tilted a bit, almost hinting at a smile. Curious, I turned to look in that direction, but saw nothing but suits and dresses and a sea of black. “What is it? Kevin?” I asked, praying he wasn’t heading our direction. “Cole August,” she said. “At least I thought I saw him.” “Oh.” I licked my lips. My mouth had gone suddenly dry. “Is Evan with him?” I forced my voice to sound casual, but my pulse was racing. If Cole was around, it was always a good bet that Evan was, too. Then I remembered what day it was and my pulse slowed as disappointment weighed down on me. “Isn’t tonight the ribbon-cutting for the hospital wing Evan funded?” Kat didn’t even spare me a glance, her eyes still searching the crowd. “Not sure.” She shot me a quick look. “Yeah, it was. You invited me before, you know, all of this happened.” I blinked back the sudden prick of tears. “Evan’s going to hate missing this. Jahn was like a dad to him.” Beside me, Kat took a quick step backward, startling me. “What is it?” She dragged her gaze away from the crowd, then frowned at me. “I . . . Oh, shit. I have to go make a call. I’ll be right back, okay?” “Um, okay.” Who the hell did she need to call right now? That wasn’t a question I pondered for long, though, because I’d caught a glimpse of Cole. And right beside him - looking like he owned the world and everything in it - was Evan. Immediately, my chest tightened and a current of electricity zinged across my skin. Technically, I saw him first, but it was my body’s reaction that caught my attention. Only after I felt him did I truly see him. And what a sight he was. Whereas Cole might be sex on wheels, Evan Black was the slow burn of sin and seduction - and tonight he was in rare form. He must have come straight from the hospital, because he was still in a tux, and although he was clearly overdressed, he appeared perfectly at ease. Whether in a tux or jeans, where Evan was concerned, it was the man that mattered, not the garment. He had the kind of chiseled good looks that would have gotten him plucked from obscurity in the Golden Age of Hollywood, and the kind of confidence and bearing that would have made him a box-office draw. A small scar intersected his left brow, giving the angel’s face a hint of the devil. He both came from money and had made his own fortune, and it showed in the way he held himself, the way he looked around a room, managing to take control of it with nothing more than a glance. His eyes were as gray as a wolf’s and his hair was the color of cherrywood, a deep brown that hinted at golds and reds when the light hit it just right. He wore it long in the back so that it brushed his collar, and the natural waves gave it the quality of a mane - which only enhanced the impression that there was a wildness clinging to the man. Wild or not, I wanted to get close. I wanted to thrust my fingers into his hair and feel the locks on my skin. I imagined his hair was soft, but that’s the only part of him that was. Everything else was edged with steel, the hard planes of his face and body hinting at a dangerous core beneath that beauty. I didn’t know whether the danger was real or an illusion. And right then, I didn’t care. I wanted the touch, the thrill. That desperate need to fly I’d been feeling all night? So help me, I wanted to fly right into Evan’s arms. I needed the rush. I craved the thrill. I wanted the man. And it was just too damn bad that he didn’t want me, too.

Meet Rylan Bellamy...

From Jeanette Grey's exhilarating Art of Passion series...

Meet Rylan Cooper...

From Alexandra Ivy's thrilling novel, Pretend You're Safe...

August Book of the Month

You've Met The Submissive . . . Now Meet The ...

My phone gave a low double beep. "Yes, Sara?" I looked at my watch - three forty-five. Abigail was punctual. Another positive. "Ms. King is here, sir." "Thank you, Sara. I'll let you know when I'm ready for her." I disconnected. I drank some water and looked over the pages one more...

August Book of the Month

You've Met The Submissive... Now Meet The Dominant

My phone gave a low double beep. "Yes, Sara?" I looked at my watch - three forty-five. Abigail was punctual. Another positive. "Ms. King is here, sir." "Thank you, Sara. I'll let you know when I'm ready for her." I disconnected. I drank some water and looked over the pages one more time. All was ready. I picked up her application and reread it, although I'm not sure why. I had it memorized. When the clock read five after four, I called Sara and told her to send Abigail in. I took a deep breath, opened a blank document on my computer, and started typing. Nathaniel West is the world’s biggest fucking idiot. What the hell do you think you’re doing? Idiot. Abigail opened the door and quietly stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Big. Fucking. Idiot. You have no business having her here. This will go down as your worst mistake ever. She walked to the middle of my office, and from my peripheral vision, I saw her stand with her hands to her sides, feet spread to the width of her shoulders. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Damn. I kept typing while I peeked at her. She took a deep breath. Her eyes were closed. Pull it together, West, I typed. She’s here for you. To be your submissive. The least you can do is not be a complete pansy ass. You’ve done this many times. She wants to be your sub. You are a dom. She’s nothing new. Nothing special. It’s very, very simple, so stop trying to make it complicated. Give her what she wants. What she needs. Take what she’ll give. And some of what she doesn’t even know she has to offer. Typing helped clear my head. Very much like playing the piano. I wrote out a few more lines, took a deep breath, and looked up. “Abigail King,” I said. She jumped. It was to be expected really. Her head was still down, but a faint tremor ran throughout her body. I wanted to reach out and touch her, reassure her I would never harm her. Instead, I picked up her application and the packet of papers I would give her if the meeting went well and tapped them together. Her head was still down. Very nice. I pushed back from my desk and walked across the floor. Her tremor intensified, but just barely. I stood behind her and reached out a hand. It was time to touch her and realize she was no more than a flesh-and-blood woman. Nothing more. Nothing less. I brushed her long, dark hair to one side and leaned in close. “You have no references.” Because it was the truth and because I wanted to see the pulse quicken at that delicate spot at the base of her throat. Yes. Just. Like. That. I leaned closer, so my lips were almost to her throat. “I would have you know that I’m not interested in training a submissive. My submissives have always been fully trained.” Would she want to know why I was making an exception in her case? Would my words have tipped her off that something was different about her? Probably not. But they should have. This was not the way I normally operated. I was changing all the rules for her. And she didn’t even know it. I took her hair and pulled. “Are you sure this is what you want, Abigail? You need to be sure.” A small part of me wanted her say no, to look up and leave. Never to return. But the biggest part of me wanted her to stay. Wanted her. She didn’t move. Didn’t leave. I chuckled and walked back to my desk. We were both so stubborn. Maybe this would work after all. Damn, I wanted it to work. “Look at me, Abigail.” Our eyes met for the first time. Hers were a deep brown and framed by thick lashes. I saw her every thought reflected in those eyes. The nervousness, the hunger, the frank assessment as her gaze traveled over me. I drummed my fingers on the desk. Her eyes darkened and she looked slightly embarrassed. Ah, she was thinking dirty, dirty thoughts. And that made me smile — but enough of that for now. “I’m not interested in why you decided to submit your application. If I select you and you are agreeable to my terms, your past won’t matter.” Because the past was no more. What mattered was now. I tapped the two reports together. “I know what I need to.” She still didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. “You have no training,” I said. “But you’re very good.” I turned to the window. Darkness cloaked the street down below, but the light from my office made the window a mirror. I could see everything Abigail did. She met my eyes for a second and then looked down. We couldn’t have that. “I rather like you, Abigail King. Although I don’t recall telling you to look away.” Yes, I thought, when her eyes met mine once more. We were going to move forward. I had her in my hands and I would not let her go. “I think a weekend test is in order.”