Spotlight: Royally Bad by Nora Flite

Kain Badd looks great on paper: rich, handsome, and he’s even a prince. But after spending a few minutes together, Sammy sees the real him—arrogant, possessive, and too hot for his own good. If she hadn’t agreed to help plan his sister’s wedding, she could have avoided him. Instead, she’s waking up in his bed after an unforgettable night she definitely wants to forget. But he won’t let her.

When Sammy thinks her life can’t get any crazier, the wedding is raided by the police, and she spends her first-ever night in jail. The irresistible Kain isn’t just bad in name—his family is connected to a dangerous underworld. Now she’s mixed up in a power struggle between his family’s empire and their rivals. She has no choice but to put herself back in this filthy prince’s extremely capable hands.

Sammy must trust Kain to keep her safe. She’s just not sure she can trust herself to resist temptation.

Excerpt

She held me like I was the only thing keeping her on the planet. It was a grip reserved for lovers or, in her case, people who had never been on a motorcycle before.

I didn’t have a spare helmet, so I’d forced her to wear mine while I went without. My father would have praised me while my mother would have cracked me upside my temple for choosing someone’s safety over my own.

But she wasn’t here.

And Sammy was.

My engine crackled, gravel flying away from my front tire as I pulled up outside the impound lot. The metal beast purred between my thighs, then it went silent. “Here we are,” I said, twisting to look at Sammy.

Inch by inch, she eased her hands off my middle. They were bent like claws, clearly cramped. I missed them instantly. When she pulled the helmet off, her hair fell from it in tangled strands.

The sight of her stunned face—wide lips, sparkling eyes, and tomato cheeks—made my heart jump. It was a confusing sensation that left me dizzy.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She focused on me, blinking. “I know how it feels to be a cannonball.”

Laughter exploded from me. “That’s one way to describe it.” My hand came up, stroking hair from her forehead before I could stop myself. We touched through our skin . . . but it was more than that.

Heat plucked at the base of my neck. I couldn’t stop how my brushing fingertips became a firm palm cupping her cheek. My mouth tingled; I knew how she’d taste, I wanted to experience her soft lips as they buzzed with the last of her adrenaline.

Sammy started to lean in. In the blackness of her dilating pupils, I saw my half-open mouth. She must have seen her own expression in my eyes, too. My thumb grazed the corner of her lips; her hand closed on mine, pushing me away.

“Come on,” she said, leaving the helmet on the seat. “Let’s go.”

Recovering from the rejection, I followed her down. Her bare feet touched the hot gravel, but it was her bones—still vibrating with the violence of my bike—that gave up. Sammy buckled sideways, her dress flipping upward as her face crashed straight toward the ground.

Faster than I had any right to be . . . but I just needed to be . . . I caught her by her elbow. It was like the other day in my driveway all over again. We were tangled dancers, and while no one had seen us yesterday, a confused impound worker gawked at us now.

Gentle as a breeze, I scooped her up in my arms. Sammy gasped, which was good, because it muted my subtle groan. Holding her against me was pure pleasure. Her weight was perfect, just enough to keep me grounded so I wouldn’t float into the heavens.

“Kain, put me down.”

“Nope. Have you seen this place?” Stepping over rocks and broken glass, I headed for the gate. “You don’t want to put those heels back on, that’s fine. But if you try to step on this shit with your silky feet, you’ll be seeing blood.”

“My silky feet? Jeez, don’t tell me you have a foot fetish.”

The man waiting by the gate stood up like we were royalty coming his way. He had no clue that one of us actually was. “Hey there,” I said, squinting at his name tag. “. . . Larry. My lady friend here has a car she needs to grab. Show him the paperwork, Sammy.”

Pulling her purse into her lap, she fumbled the yellow papers out, handing them over. The young man took them hesitantly, saying, “Uh, all right. Give me your key, I’ll go grab it.”

Sammy gave them up, then we both watched as Larry trucked off across the giant lot of vehicles. It was like a graveyard for cars, their bodies in various degrees of decay.

The wind kicked dust up, and on instinct, I shielded Sammy from it. Doing so pushed my face close to the top of her head. Hair strands tickled my cheeks, a sensation as nice as her fingers would have been on the small of my back.

“Kain,” she whispered.

My veins quickened. “Yeah?”

“After this . . . I don’t want to see you again.” 

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About the Author

A USA Today bestselling author, Nora Flite lives in Southern California, where the weather is warm and she doesn’t have to shovel snow—something she never grew to love in her tiny home state of Rhode Island. All her romances involve passionate, filthy, and slightly obsessive heroes—because those are clearly the best kind! She’s always been a writer, and you’ll probably have to pry her keyboard/pen/magical future writing device out of her cold, dead fingers before she’ll stop. Visit her at www.NoraFlite.com, or drop her a line at noraflite@gmail.com. 

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Read an excerpt from Famous by Default by M.K. Harkins

 

Jax doesn't want to be famous. Stalked by rabid fans and the paparazzi, he dreams of better days when things were normal. But those days are gone. No one can stay under the radar if you're from the Jaynes family. He doesn't trust anymore.

Sivan doesn't have a family. As a part of the foster care system, all she wants is to finish doing her time and move out and on. She doesn't love anymore.

Jax and Sivan are thrust together on a small-town farm in Mount Vernon, Iowa. They take an immediate dislike of one another, trying at every opportunity to trip each other up. They don't want to acknowledge they might be more similar than they first thought.

Will they stay stuck in their past, hanging on to their lack of trust and love? Or can they change before it's too late? 

Excerpt

Could choking someone be considered manslaughter instead of murder? A reduced stint in jail might be worth wiping the smug expression off his face. That cocky, self-important jerk. So what if he was good-looking? Lots of people were. Well, maybe not as hot as Jax, but still.

His dark, wavy hair and green eyes, a chiseled jaw and high cheekbones that rivaled any high-priced model were actually annoying. And it wasn’t fair his lips looked so soft and full.

Stop it.

It didn’t change the fact he thought the world should revolve around him.

Probably just your typical pampered, rich kid. He didn’t have the clothes, but his attitude screamed spoiled brat.

“I thought you were homeless or some drug addict.” There. That should bring him down a few notches.

“What?” His overconfident smile faltered.

“Yep.”

“Oh, so that’s how you treat a possible homeless person?” He raised an eyebrow.

Ugh. His irritating smile returned.

“No. Only the homeless who break and enter. Who knew what you were up to? And don’t forget about the drug addict part. Yeah, I think you look more like someone coming down from a meth high.” I folded my arms across my chest.

Zing.

“Um. Look, Sivan.” Regina glared at me. “You may have lived in a cave or something before you came to Betty’s, but you can’t talk to him like that.”

I’d almost forgotten she was in the room.  “Of course I can talk to him that way. Why would you care anyway? Do you know him?”

“Duh. Everyone knows him. He’s, like, uber-famous.” She rolled her eyes.

Oh, great, worse than I imagined. A spoiled, rich, pampered, and famous jerk.

“I’m not famous. You’ve mistaken me for my brother.” His lips turned down into a frown.

Regina smiled like she’d just won a spelling bee. “Oh, I know who you are. You have the little scar above your right eyebrow. You’re Jax.”

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About M.K. Harkins

MK has always been a voracious reader. After hitting a dry spell of reading material, she decided to write the kind of book she'd like to read. This resulted in the creation of her debut novel, Intentional. (Award for Best Sweet Romance - eFestival of Words- August 2014)

Unintentional, the second book in the series, is based on the life of one of the characters in Intentional (Cade - an engineer/rock star). Unintentional was written as a stand-alone book.

Breaking Braydon, another stand-alone book, is now available on Amazon. 

Taking Tiffany (A spin-off) is available now.

MK is currently working on a paranormal romance - The Reader. Due out 2016.

When she's not writing novels, she likes to spend her free time traveling the world, splashing in mud puddles (She lives in Seattle, what can she say?), watching movies and reading (!)

Connect with M.K.: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Youtube

Excerpt: The Varangian by Bruce Macbain

About the Book

The third volume of Odd Tangle-Hair’s Saga finds our hero in Golden Miklagard (Constantinople), posing as an ambassador from the Grand Prince of Rus. But his real mission is to assassinate his former master, Harald the Ruthless, who has now risen high in the Emperor’s Varangian Guard. Odd is dazzled by the brilliance of the Byzantine capital and its beating heart–the Great Palace, with the astonishing Throne of Solomon that levitates above the heads of kneeling courtiers.

Here, Odd will meet Constantine Psellus, an ambitious young bureaucrat who mentors him in the ways of the court. He will be drawn into an intrigue that involves the Empress Zoe, who spends her days brewing vats of perfume, and John the Guardian of Orphans, the powerful and sinister eunuch who schemes to advance his family. And Odd will fall in love with Selene, an alchemist’s daughter, who supports herself by gambling in the waterfront taverns.

Finally, after a hard-fought campaign against the Saracens in Sicily and the overthrow of an Emperor, Odd reaches the pinnacle of power and believes he has vanquished his enemy Harald once and for all.

Then disaster overwhelms him.

Excerpt

Chapter 1: Golden Miklagard

The size of it! The Romans call it Constantinople, Byzantium, New Rome, or simply The city. We Norse call it Miklagard, ‘Big Town.’ How puny the words seem. As the late afternoon sun broke through the clouds, there lay spread out before me across the sparkling water a sight dazzling to the eyes: a series of rising terraces clothed in alabaster, acres of it--walls, columns, arches, steps, piled one atop the other and everywhere crowned with golden domes, touched to sudden life by the fire from above.

It was all true, those boasts of Leonidas, the Greek sea captain I had spent four years chained to; and I had thought he was a liar or just crazy. But no words could have prepared me for this,  just as no words of mine are big enough for it now. The sight of it came like rain to my barren spirit.  Curiosity and wonder--feelings I had forgotten I possessed--stirred in me again like seeds in the damp earth.  To walk those avenues, to enter those cool marble towers and hear the whisper of silk along their secret corridors…

After weeks of rowing down the Dnieper and across the sea with our cargo of furs, honey, wax, caviar, and hides, the Rus fleet of a hundred river boats flanked by Greek warships, sailed past the twin guard towers and into the Golden Horn—a long, winding inlet, a kind of fjord, that divides the city proper from the hinterland. Our destination was the Harbor of Saint Mamas on the northern shore of the Horn. For only here, according to treaty, were we Rus allowed to camp. I say ‘we’ because I was one of them now: gospodin Churillo Igorevich of Novgorod; dressed in a fur hat with a red tassel, a long blue coat, wide striped trousers tucked into soft red leather boots, and a pigeon-blood ruby in my ear. From my belt hung a fat purse of gold and in my hand I held a letter from Yaroslav the Wise naming me his boyar and ambassador to the court of his dear ‘brother’ Michael, Emperor of the Romans. I was empowered to negotiate a marriage for his daughter Yelisaveta—a marvel of beauty, prudence, and affability—with some lucky Greek princeling.  Needless to say, all this had been concocted by Ingigerd without `Wise' Yaroslav being any the wiser.  She counted on rumor of my business reaching Harald’s ears, wherever he might be, and bringing him out in the open.  Then all I had to do was kill him.

All along the quay our boats-- dugouts hollowed from a single giant tree trunk—were tying up and unlading in front of a crowd of curious onlookers. The Greeks never tired of watching us—we fearsome, shaggy savages of the North, who three times in their history had attacked them from the sea and nearly captured their city. For this reason, though our trade goods were welcome, we were closely guarded, confined to one region of the city, and disarmed before being allowed ashore.

“Eh? Eh? Odd Tang—excuse me, Churillo…” Stavko winked hugely, laughed with a spray of saliva, and shook his head so that the lead balls swung at the ends of his greasy braids. The slave trader was to be my guide, my minder, my go-between with Ingigerd. “Eh? Does Stavko exaggerate? You are impressed?”

I wouldn’t tell him so. The man gave me the shivers. He clapped me on the shoulder, then quickly pulled back his hand, seeing me wince. “Sorry, gospodin. How is wound?”

We had sailed into a Pecheneg ambush on the river a week ago and I’d taken an arrow in my right shoulder. It was still plenty sore and I couldn’t raise my arm above my head.

“Well, gospodin, I go see to the gifts. Such treasures we are bringing to Emperor! Then we—”

“I say, who’s in charge here?” The words were in heavily accented Slavonic. “I’m looking for your, ah, voi—voivode.” He stumbled over the word for commander.  I looked around the crowd to see who had spoken and saw a slender young man—nineteen or twenty, I guessed—pushing his way through the crowd with a couple of soldiers in tow. His skin was olive, his eyes black under heavy brows that met in the middle; his head was round as a nut and covered with short brown bristles that extended downward over his cheeks, chin, and throat. His ears were large. He had a twitchy expression that reminded me of a squirrel. He was clearly some sort of official: his collar, belt, and cape indicated that much, even to a stranger like me.

Vyshata Ostromirovich, who was our commodore, turned round and looked down on the little fellow. “Who by the Devil’s mother are you? They send me someone new?”

“Constantine Psellus, sir, Office of Barbarians …”

“Whoever.” Vyshata turned away to scream abuse at a couple of sailors who had dropped a cask of mead.”

The young man scowled, bounced on the balls of his feet, looked around for someone else to address. Behind his back one soldier grinned at the other.  I stepped forward and introduced myself in Greek.

“What? A barbarian speaks our language?” He blinked in surprise.

“I do, sir.” (Calling him kyrios in Greek, as Leonidas had taught me to do.) “Of a rough sort, anyway. I am Prince Yaroslav’s ambassador, come to offer the hand of his daughter to a suitable noble youth.”

“What’s that? We had no idea, no one told us you were coming.”

“I think it was a sudden decision.”

He scowled again—to cover his nervousness, I supposed. A junior official suddenly confronted with a situation above his pay grade. “Well, the Logothete must be informed at once and you will accompany me to the hostel, the ambassadors’ lodgings.”

“Gladly,” I smiled and we gripped forearms.  For such a small fellow his grip was surprisingly strong. And that is how I met Psellus, who would change my life.

“Have you a man servant?” he asked.

I indicated Piotr, who was standing nearby, with his hair, as usual, in his eyes.

“Then come along both of you.” Psellus plunged into the crowd without looking back. It was a characteristic of his that I came to know well: he bustled everywhere as though he were perpetually late for an appointment. A young man in a hurry, I thought to myself.  He led us to a small boat, very prettily painted, that was tied up some distance down the quay. The rowers raised their oars in salute when they saw us approaching.

“We’re crossing the Horn,” Psellus called over his shoulder. The hostel is near the Great Palace.”

Well, this is progress, thought I to myself. And how long will it be before I cross swords with Harald?

Just then a chill wind ruffled the surface of the water and a shiver ran through me. Of excitement—or fear?

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About the Author

Bruce Macbain holds degrees in Classics and Ancient History and was formerly an Assistant Professor of Classics at Boston University. He decided to stop writing scholarly articles (which almost no one read) and turn his expertise to fiction—a much more congenial medium. His previous novels include two mysteries set in ancient Rome (Roman Games, The Bull Slayer) and the first two novels in the Odd Tangle-Hair series (Odin’s Child, The Ice Queen).

For more information, please visit Bruce MacBain’s website. You can also find him on FacebookTwitterGoogle+, and Goodreads.

Read an excerpt from My Darling, My Disaster by Amalie Howard & Angie Morgan

"A hearty dose of secrets and burning passion. A page-turning escape!" – Eliza Knight, USA Today bestselling author

A princess who had it all. A lord with everything to lose.

Lord Graham Findlay, the shamelessly virile Viscount Northridge, has a disgraceful secret, one he’ll do anything to hide. Holding his passions at bay, Gray has sworn off the fairer sex. But when temptation comes in the form of an intriguing woman he cannot easily avoid, Gray’s integrity—and his most depraved desires—are put to the ultimate test.

Self-assured and carefree Princess Svetlanka Volkonsky never dreamed she would one day become a lady’s maid to avoid a dangerous traitor. But danger also comes in many guises, especially in the sinful and devastatingly attractive lord of the manor who introduces her to a world of singular pleasure. 

When Lana’s past emerges to threaten the life and the false identity she’s built in England, she and Gray find themselves falling into a tangled web of lies and intrigue...and the last place either of them expected to fall...in love. 

Excerpt

The interior of the coach felt hot, and she could swear that Lord Northridge’s body was closer than it had been moments before. Lana’s pulse spiked, every inch of her skin prickling with bright awareness. She had been courted by suitors before and had been the recipient of hastily stolen embraces in the arbor at Volkonsky Palace. But no man had ever made her feel the way she did now—like a fox in a hunt with nowhere to run. Her short nails dug into her palms even as she feigned continued indifference. It was a talent she’d inherited from her mother: the ability to remain tranquil and unruffled in any situation.

But, lord, the man pushed her to the limits of her skill.

Despite her composed exterior, Lana was acutely conscious of him. With each inhale and exhale, she could scent the spice of his cologne and the bite of whiskey and cigar smoke, see the rise and fall of the pulse in his neck, hear the rustle of his clothing against the plush velvet seat. She could feel his hooded eyes settling upon her as if they were hands pressing against her flesh, boldly pushing past the confines of her cloak.

Undressing her.

Refusing to succumb to his debauchery, she met his eyes with cool hauteur, and they dropped provokingly to her lips. He was trying to shock her, she knew. But Lana held his stare, refusing to be cowed by whatever new perverse game he was playing. She swallowed a biting response that would remind him of his place, and hers—Lord Northridge at the best of times was unpredictable, and after a night on the town with liquor in his blood, she would do well to curb her tongue. Lest he force himself upon her like some lovelorn swain.

No, not lovelorn. Lord Northridge would not allow such a common emotion as love to rule him. The art of his seduction, if at all, would be calculated and ruthless…meant only to serve him and no other. Lovesick females fell at his feet, not the reverse. Lord Northridge’s eyes met hers as if her thoughts had grown transparent, and she flushed when another knowing smirk appeared.

Lord have mercy, he made her want to kick him. Hard.

Flustered, Lana couldn’t quite help herself as the coach finally rolled to a sharp stop in front of the manor. “Like what you see?” she asked in succinct tones.

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his lips at her veiled mockery. “Very much.”

Lana went still at the candid admission. He looked as surprised as she did. An arctic flush suffused her chest and climbed her neck as James opened the coach door. She slid forward, taking the footman’s hand and making her escape with every ounce of grace she could manage. “Perhaps you should endeavor to foist your attentions where they will be better welcomed. Good day, Lord Northridge.”

His husky chuckle at what would have been a crushing setdown in any other circumstance followed her all the way to the front door.

Blast the arrogant clodpole to Hades.

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About the Authors

Amalie Howard’s love of romance developed after she started pilfering her grandmother’s novels in high school when she should have been studying. She has no regrets. A #1 Amazon bestseller and a national IPPY silver medalist, she is the author of My Rogue, My Ruin, the first in the Lords of Essex historical romance series, as well as several award-winning young adult novels critically acclaimed by Kirkus, Publishers Weekly, VOYA, School Library Journal, and Booklist, including Waterfell, The Almost Girl, and Alpha Goddess, a Kid’s IndieNext pick. She currently resides in Colorado with her husband and three children. Visit her website for the latest news and information.

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Angie Morgan lives in New Hampshire with her husband, their three daughters, a menagerie of pets, and an extensive collection of paperback romance novels. She’s the author of MY ROGUE, MY RUIN, the first book in the Lords of Essex historical romance series, as well as several young adult books, including The Dispossessed series written under the name Page Morgan. Critically acclaimed by Booklist, Publisher’s Weekly, Kirkus, School Library Journal, VOYA, and The Bulletin, Angie’s novels have been an IndieNext selection, a Seventeen Magazine Summer Book Club Read, and a #1 Amazon bestseller. Visit her website for the latest news and information

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Read an excerpt from Lei'd with Cupcakes by Bethany Lopez

Everybody dreams of a Hawaiian Vacation…

They sell you on the drinks with little umbrella’s, dolphin watching, and long walks on the beach. Which probably happens, if you’re that lucky schmuck living out your dream with your destination wedding, but if you’re a fish out of water PI like me, there’s no time for relaxing because trouble is never far behind.

Instead of cocktails, I ended up dealing with the seedy underbelly of The Big Island.
And, I didn’t see one damn dolphin while undercover on a boat which was spilling over with drug dealers, Kingpins, and Pedophiles. 

Elin and Elena think Cade's family are the coolest people outside of Snapchat, but it’s hard to meet the parents when your boyfriend is in his late thirties and has never had a serious relationship. 

I’d never missed my girls so much in my life, but Amy May, Bea, and Carmen are all dealing with issues of their own, and can’t come to my rescue.

The only thing that may help me with this “vacation” is if I could get Lei’d with Cupcakes. 

WARNING: THIS BOOK CONTAINS FOUL LANGUAGE, SEX, SOME VIOLENCE, AND SHENANIGANS. IF NONE OF THAT BOTHERS YOU, GRAB A CUPCAKE AND READ ON!

Excerpt

“This is your room?” I asked, even though it was pretty obvious.

“Yeah.”

“I’m in here with you?” I asked, my eyes darting back out into the hall.

“Yeah.”

I dropped my bag by the bed and walked up to Cade, lowering my voice to say, “I can’t sleep with you in your parents’ house.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Cade asked as he took out his rubber band and pulled his hair back to secure it again.

“We can’t have sex in your parents’ house.”

Cade turned his face toward me, eyebrows raised.

“Lila, I’m thirty-eight years old, I’m pretty sure they know I fuck.”

My eyes widened and my face went red.

“Don’t talk like that, My God… Just because they assume, doesn’t mean it should happen in their house. It’s rude.”

Cade chuckled and replied, “All right, Darlin’, I’ll keep my hands to myself, in the house, and we’ll see if you can do the same.”

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About the Author

Award-Winning Author Bethany Lopez began self-publishing in June 2011. She's a lover of all things romance: books, movies, music, and life, and she incorporates that into the books she writes. When she isn't reading or writing, she loves spending time with her husband and children, traveling whenever possible. Some of her favorite things are: Kristen Ashley Books, coffee in the morning, and In N Out burgers.

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Read an excerpt from More Than A Feeling by Erika Kelly

From the award-winning author of TAKE ME HOME TONIGHT comes the final story in her red-hot Rock Star Romance series, about a loner rocker finding his perfect duet.

When Cooper Hood left Snowberry, Montana ten years ago, he swore he’d never go back to the town that painted him with the same brush as his addict mother. But right in the middle of his band’s national tour he gets a call to come home: his mom’s got a whopper of a secret to reveal.

Daisy Charbonneau’s in trouble. The talent she hired for her resort’s annual Huckleberry Festival just bailed on her, and she’s desperate to find a replacement act. Luck turns her way when she discovers her high school crush is back in town—and he happens to be a rock star.

As they work together, a crush deepens into so much more, but who falls in love in two weeks?

Especially when Cooper’s never coming back to town, and Daisy’s never going to leave it.

Excerpt

Closing her eyes, Daisy bit into the crunchy drizzle, her teeth sinking through the buttery rich goodness of the bread. Oh, dear God. Her mom made the world’s best cinnamon rolls. With a sigh, she looked up to find someone heading toward her on the path.

Of course her childhood crush would show up the moment she’d stuffed her mouth full of pastry. Leaning against the hood of her car, Daisy chewed quickly—which sucked because, basically, time should stand still while savoring her mom’s desserts.

But Cooper wasn’t looking at her. Scowling at his phone, he stopped on the path, fingers furiously typing. Was he dealing with his mom?

Or maybe a girlfriend. Instantly her skin tightened, and her heart thudded. If Cooper had a girlfriend…God. Last night she’d gone on and on about how much he’d meant to her.

She looked away, mortification crashing through her system.

First, she’d bumped into him wearing waders and a fishing hat, and then she’d forced him to go out with her. Awesome.

He couldn’t have been clearer that he didn’t want to spend the day with her, but she’d gone and made an offer she knew he couldn’t turn down. Not if he wanted to get his mom’s house built and get himself back on tour.

Feeling a little sick to her stomach, she licked the sticky drizzle off her fingers and shoved the treat back into the bag.

As he paused on the path, thumbs working over the phone’s keypad, she took in his powerful physique. A white T-shirt strained across broad shoulders, hugging his thickly rounded biceps, and worn blue jeans cupped his hard, muscular thighs.

The colorful ink covering his body made him look like a total badass. She’d noticed a strange symbol on his inner wrist and a cartoon image on his forearm of a pin-up girl holding a barbell, a sexy slash of red for her lips.

The man he’d grown into made her soul wake up, and God, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d felt this kind of fluttery attraction for a guy.

As if he felt someone watching him, he looked up sharply and found her. The worry lines eased. But he didn’t smile. “Hey.”

She pushed off her car. “You ready?” Forced or not, her plan was good for both of them. She was sticking to it.

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About the Author

Award-winning author Erika Kelly has been spinning romantic tales all her life--she just didn't know it. Raised on the classics, she didn't discover romantic fiction until later in life. From that moment on, she's been devouring the genre and has found her true voice as an author. Over three decades she's written poems, screenplays, plays, short stories, and all kinds of women's fiction novels. Married to the love of her life and raising four children, she's lived in two countries and seven states, but give her pen and paper, a stack of good books, and a steaming mug of vanilla chai latte and she can make her home anywhere.

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