Spotlight: Falling for the Tycoon by Aurora Russell


Anywhere and Always Book 1

Contemporary Romance

Published: December 2019

Publisher: Totally Bound Publishing


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One wild and passionate Caribbean night leaves Annelise with amazing memories…but what happens when her vacation fling reappears as a VIP client?

Deserted by her fiancé only three months before their wedding, a devastated Annelise decides to go on their Caribbean honeymoon alone in the hope of thawing the deep freeze of her emotions. Tripping and landing on top of the most gorgeous man she’s ever seen, a sexy French-Canadian stranger, is as surprising as it is mortifying.

Rémy Gaspard is staying at his family’s remote tropical resort to get some work done after a difficult visit with his sister, but instead, he finds himself drawn to the sad young woman he sees from across the beach. When she quite literally falls into his lap, he can’t believe his good fortune.

Their passionate vacation romance is cut short by a troubling accident and they part ways, but neither can stop thinking about the other. When they meet up again in Montreal, seemingly by accident six months later, their attraction is just as strong…or stronger. As they face the challenges of misunderstandings, suspicions and a shadowy menace that won’t leave Rémy’s family alone, one thing becomes clear. Their love remains strong, anywhere and always.

 

Book 2 in the Anywhere and Always Series: Snowbound with the Billionaire is Coming Soon!!!

 


 

 

Excerpt

She scrambled up as quickly as possible, but not before she pressed up against the length of a tall, muscular man. He was warm and smelled of the ocean and the wind—and also a bit spicy, like some of the more exotic seasonings used in the local dishes. As she brushed herself off and stood as swiftly as she could, she just had time to realize that he smelled…incredibly good. For someone I apparently fell on like a ton of bricks. Smooth. Real smooth, Annelise.

“I’m so sorry!” she apologized, feeling a hot blush rise from her hairline to her ears and even onto her chest. She knew her cheeks must be flaming.

The stranger, dressed only in faded board shorts that might have been red once but were now a washed-out salmon, was covered in sand. It dusted his tan, muscular chest and sprinkled his dark-brown hair. He might have looked silly if he hadn’t been… Well, the only words that sprang to her mind were ‘unbelievably gorgeous’. No, that wasn’t true. She also thought ‘scrumptious’ and ‘hot as hell’. Mentally recalling herself, she realized he hadn’t responded to her apology.

“Do you speak English? Español?” Annelise hoped he spoke at least a tiny bit of English, because her Spanish was abysmal. “Oh my gosh, did I hurt you?” she continued, worried.

The man sat up with a little shake, and his mouth quirked into a wry smile, making his dark eyes crinkle at the corners. “No apology needed. I must have fallen asleep. I’m fine. No harm done. Although”—he gestured at the empty beach—“it was an unlucky coincidence that you should choose this one spot to walk onto.” His accent sounded French, and his tone was compelling as he spoke, inviting her to share his amusement, not only at their situation but also possibly at life in general.

Annelise felt an unfamiliar smile tug at the corners of her lips. “I’m so glad you’re not hurt. And ‘unlucky’ should be my middle name,” she answered, the words out before she could recall them. It was totally unlike her to talk about her personal life with a complete stranger. Alone. On a deserted beach. Totally alone. She took an unconscious step backward.

The stranger didn’t look as though he’d been lying in wait to trip unsuspecting tourists, though. He looked as if he belonged—and as if he was mildly interested in what she was saying. If he’d looked too interested, she might have shut down, but instead, she found herself answering the questioning quirk of his dark eyebrow.

“I’ve…had a bit of a setback recently in my personal life,” she said. It was the understatement of the century.

“Sounds like it was a bad one. Do you want to talk about it?” he offered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, just two strangers watching a Caribbean sunset and talking about their personal lives. It suddenly occurred to her that he was the first person besides the unobtrusive security guards that she’d seen on the private beach this entire trip. She’d actually begun to think she must be the only guest at the cabanas. Her thoughts turned suddenly suspicious.

“What are you doing on this beach? It’s supposed to be private and definitely a no-trespassing sort of place.” Her mind turned to the prominent guns she’d seen the security guards carrying, and she wasn’t sure if she was trying to intimidate or warn the stranger.

The white of his smile on his tan face was stunning in the sunset. “Thank you for the warning, chérie, but I am a guest here…in the owner’s cabana.” He gestured with one long, muscular arm and Annelise noticed a path she hadn’t seen before, leading to what looked like a giant house. It was much larger than her own spacious cabin.

“Oh, right. The owner’s French, isn’t he?” Annelise answered, trying to recall the details she knew of the resort. She’d learned about it from her colleague, and the owner was a big-time client of the financial services firm where she worked.

“French-Canadian,” the stranger corrected, raising his eyebrow again, “but I’ll let it slide just this once.”

“Sorry…I know there’s a big difference,” she hastened to apologize. Great, she’d now offended a close friend of a client who could get her fired.

The stranger shook his head. “I was teasing. I’m not so easily offended,” he said, bending up his knees and wrapping his arms loosely around them before motioning toward the soft-looking hollow next to him. “Care to join me? You can’t beat the view.”

 

 About the Author

Aurora Russell is originally from the frozen tundra of the upper-Midwest (ok, not frozen all the time!) but now loves living in New England with her real-life hero/husband, two wonderfully silly sons, and one of the most extraordinary cats she has ever had the pleasure to meet. But she still goes back to the Midwest to visit, just never in January. She doesn't remember a time that she didn't love to read, and has been writing stories since she learned how to hold a pencil. She has always liked the romantic scenes best in every book, story, and movie, so one day she decided to try her hand at writing her own romantic fiction, which changed her life in all the best ways.

 

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Spotlight: Dreamland by Beth D. Carter


Time-Travel Romance

Date Published: 7/2/2020

Publisher: Evernight Publishing


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Dicen Burke had it all.  As lead singer in the world famous rock band, Dark Army, the world lay at his feet.  But the path to super stardom warred with a painful past and during a performance the demons haunting him finally descended.  Unable to stop the self-destructive path of alcohol and drugs, when he fell, he fell hard.

He wakes up in a world he doesn’t know.  The Twenty-first century rocker is now in the 1920’s, lost and bewildered.  He’s taken in by Juliet Fox, a beautiful woman trying to be a positive influence in her brother’s wild lifestyle among the Hollywood Motion Picture elite.

Dicen does his best to adapt, and with Juliet by his side, he discovers a world that offers him a clean slate.  But when he’s pulled back to the present, separated by time from the one person that gives him a reason to live, will he find a way to push past his demons as well as find Juliet again?

 

 

 

 

Excerpt

 

              “Hey you,” a soft voice commanded.  “Open your eyes please”

            He tried to obey, struggling to push past the lingering darkness that clung to him like a second skin.  God, he felt horrible.

            “That’s it,” she soothed.  “Open your eyes.  Look at me.”

            Finally, he managed to raise his eyelids.  An angel leaned over him, staring into his eyes.  She smiled at him so he smiled back.  He had always thought it would be demons that would come collect him when he died so it amazed him that heaven was calling.

            “Ah, a set of beautiful baby blues,” she murmured, stroking his cheek.  “Hello, handsome.”

            He opened his mouth to say something but the words wouldn’t come.  His tongue felt swollen, dry.  He forced himself to swallow to try to get some saliva flowing.

            “W-what happened?”

            She cocked her head.  “Bad hooch I’m thinking.  Gotta be careful of certain juice joints.  Come,” she said, holding out her hand.  “Let’s get you sitting upright.”

            He hadn’t realized he’d been lying down but as she helped him up, he realized the halo around her head had been nothing more but the flickering of a street light accentuating the midnight hue of her hair.  When he was vertical once more, he finally saw all of the woman’s features.  Short bobbed hair held back by a headband made of crystal beads while dark eyes watched him from under thin, perfectly arched eyebrows.  Her lips were a cupid’s bow, painted a deep red.  Her skin a flawless pale shade that contrasted sharply with her heavily made up eyes.

            “Like what you see?” she asked.

            He blinked.  “I always like my fans.  Where am I?”

            One of those thin eyebrows arched.  “That hooch must’ve really made you balled up.  You’re off Hollywood Boulevard, of course, belly up in an alley.”

            He looked around, completely baffled.  How the hell did he get here?  Where was the stage?  The screaming fans?  Kieron, Van and Tony?

            “Do you have a name, handsome?”

            “Yeah, sorry.  I’m Dicen Burke.”

            He waited.  He waited for the name to sink in, for her eyes to widen, for her to begin batting her eyes in an attempt to flirt her way into his bed.

            “Juliet,” she said.  “Juliet Fox.  I was looking for my brother, Thayer, and figured I’d find him upchucking out here and instead I find a keen big six.  Say, you’re no drugstore cowboy are you?”

            “Excuse me?”  Her lack of a response to his name, along with slang he didn’t understand, threw him.

            “You know, a guy that hangs around street corners looking to pick up ladies.  Just so we’re clear on the matter, I ain’t that kind of girl,” she informed him, the smile on her face lessening the harshness of her tone.  “Have you seen another man out here, by chance, throwing up?”

            She confused him.  He shook his head and then wished he hadn’t when it throbbed.  “God, I need an aspirin.”

 

 

 


About the Author

I began reading my mom’s Harlequin Presents in the fifth grade, and from the first story I knew I wanted to write romance novels. I like writing about the very ordinary girl thrust into extraordinary circumstances, so my heroines will probably never be lawyers, doctors or corporate highrollers.  I try to write characters who aren't cookie cutters and push myself to write complicated situations that I have no idea how to resolve, forcing me to think outside the box.  I love writing characters who are real, complex and full of flaws, heroes and heroines who find redemption through love. You can find me on the web at:

 

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Spotlight: One Little Dare by Whitney Barbetti

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Release Date: July 29

Truth or dare? I always choose a dare. And no matter the dare, I always follow through.

Even if it means walking down a busy street in my bathrobe and hair curlers.

Or recreating that iconic When Harry Met Sally deli scene while on a crowded subway. 

Or hitting on a handsome stranger in a bar.

And then … marrying that stranger. While in Vegas.

But the one thing I’m not supposed to do is fall in love with this man.

That wasn’t part of the dare.

Only my heart never got that memo.

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Meet Whitney Barbetti

Whitney Barbetti writes character-driven contemporary and new adult romance novels, heavy on the emotional connection. Thanks to her passion for mental health awareness, she often writes characters who suffer from some type of mental illness, in an effort to help people understand them better and to rid the stigma that surrounds those who live bravely despite their struggles.

As a Navy brat, Whitney grew up all over the country, from California to Colorado and up and down the eastern United States. She currently resides in the western United States with her husband, two children, and two ridiculous cats. Her favorite things include Taco Bell, Diet Coke, terrible reality tv, and a really good thriller novel.

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Spotlight: Lies, Lies, Lies by Adele Parks

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LIES LIES LIES (MIRA Trade Paperback; August 4, 2020; $17.99) centers on the story of Simon and Daisy Barnes. To the outside world, Simon and Daisy look like they have a perfect life. They have jobs they love, an angelic, talented daughter, a tight group of friends... and they have secrets too. Secrets that will find their way to the light, one way or the other.

Daisy and Simon spent almost a decade hoping for the child that fate cruelly seemed to keep from them. It wasn’t until, with their marriage nearly in shambles and Daisy driven to desperation, little Millie was born. Perfect in every way, healing the Barnes family into a happy unit of three. Ever indulgent Simon hopes for one more miracle, one more baby. But his doctor’s visit shatters the illusion of the family he holds so dear.

Now, Simon has turned to the bottle to deal with his revelation and Daisy is trying to keep both of their secrets from spilling outside of their home. But Daisy’s silence and Simon’s habit begin to build until they set off a catastrophic chain of events that will destroy life as they know it. 

Excerpt

Prologue

May 1976

Simon was six years old when he first tasted beer.

He was bathed and ready for bed wearing soft pyjamas, even though it was light outside; still early. Other kids were in the street, playing on their bikes, kicking a football. He could hear them through the open window, although he couldn’t see them because the blinds were closed. His daddy didn’t like the evening light glaring on the TV screen, his mummy didn’t like the neighbours looking in; keeping the room dark was something they agreed on.

His mummy didn’t like a lot of things: wasted food, messy bedrooms, Daddy driving too fast, his sister throwing a tantrum in public. Mummy liked ‘having standards’. He didn’t know what that meant, exactly. There was a standard-bearer at Cubs; he was a big boy and got to wave the flag at the front of the parade, but his mummy didn’t have a flag, so it was unclear. What was clear was that she didn’t like him to be in the street after six o’clock. She thought it was common. He wasn’t sure what common was either, something to do with having fun. She bathed him straight after tea and made him put on pyjamas, so that he couldn’t sneak outside.

He didn’t know what his daddy didn’t like, just what he did like. His daddy was always thirsty and liked a drink. When he was thirsty he was grumpy and when he had a drink, he laughed a lot. His daddy was an accountant and like to count in lots of different ways: “a swift one’, “a cold one’, and ‘one more for the road’. Sometimes Simon though his daddy was lying when he said he was an accountant; most likely, he was a pirate or a wizard. He said to people, “Pick your poison’, which sounded like something pirates might say, and he liked to drink, “the hair of a dog’ in the morning at the weekends, which was definitely a spell. Simon asked his mummy about it once and she told him to stop being silly and never to say those silly things outside the house.

He had been playing with his Etch A Sketch, which was only two months old and was a birthday present. Having seen it advertised on TV, Simon had begged for it, but it was disappointing. Just two silly knobs making lines that went up and down, side to side. Limited. Boring. He was bored. The furniture in the room was organised so all of it was pointing at the TV which was blaring but not interesting. The news. His parents liked watching the news, but he didn’t. His father was nursing a can of the grown ups’ pop that Simon was never allowed. The pop that smelt like nothing else, fruity and dark and tempting.

“Can I have a sip?” he asked.

“Don’t be silly, Simon,” his mother interjected. “You’re far too young. Beer is for daddies.” He thought she said ‘daddies’, but she might have said ‘baddies’.

His father put the can to his lips, glared at his mother, cold. A look that said, “Shut up woman, this is man’s business.” His mother had blushed, looked away as though she couldn’t stand to watch, but she held her tongue. Perhaps she thought the bitterness wouldn’t be to his taste, that one sip would put him off. He didn’t like the taste. But he enjoyed the collusion. He didn’t know that word then, but he instinctively understood the thrill. He and his daddy drinking grown ups’ pop! His father had looked satisfied when he swallowed back the first mouthful, then pushed for a second. He looked almost proud. Simon tasted the aluminium can, the snappy biting bitter bubbles and it lit a fuse.

After that, in the mornings, Simon would sometimes get up early, before Mummy or Daddy or his little sister, and he’d dash around the house before school, tidying up. He’d open the curtains, empty the ashtrays, clear away the discarded cans. Invariably his mother went to bed before his father. Perhaps she didn’t want to have to watch him drink himself into a stupor every night, perhaps she hoped denying him an audience might take away some of the fun for him, some of the need. She never saw just how bad the place looked by the time his father staggered upstairs to bed. Simon knew it was important that she didn’t see that particular brand of chaos.

Occasionally there would be a small amount of beer left in one of the cans. Simon would slurp it back. He found he liked the flat, forbidden, taste just as much as the fizzy hit of fresh beer. He’d throw open a window, so the cigarette smoke and the secrets could drift away. When his mother came downstairs, she would smile at him and thank him for tidying up.

“You’re a good boy, Simon,” she’d say with some relief. And no idea.

When there weren’t dregs to be slugged, he sometimes opened a new can. Threw half of it down his throat before eating his breakfast. His father never kept count.

Some people say their favourite smell is freshly baked bread, others say coffee or a campfire. From a very young age, few scents could pop Simon’s nerve endings like the scent of beer.

The promise of it.

Excerpted from Lies Lies Lies by Adele Parks, Copyright © 2020 by Adele Parks. 

Published by MIRA Books

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About the Author

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Adele Parks was born in Teesside, North-East England. Her first novel, Playing Away, was published in 2000 and since then she's had seventeen international bestsellers, translated into twenty-six languages, including I Invited Her In. She's been an Ambassador for The Reading Agency and a judge for the Costa. She's lived in Italy, Botswana and London, and is now settled in Guildford, Surrey, with her husband, teenage son and cat.

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Spotlight: The Baby Contract by Nan Reinhardt

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She wants a baby…he wants a family

Firefighter and paramedic Tierney Ashton has always been a bold adventurer, but at thirty-four she longs to embark on a new adventure—motherhood. But who will be the father? Although financially challenging, a sperm bank appears to be her best option. That is, until she shares her dream with her long-time pal, Brendan Flaherty.

Government analyst and world traveler Brendan Flaherty returns home to River’s Edge to help out at his family’s thriving winery and his brother’s new community theater. He also plans to finally achieve his lifelong goal of writing a novel. But when Tierney shares her wish, Bren offers to be her baby daddy—with one condition. Marriage.

It seems like a perfect contract, but will love get in the way?

Excerpt

Three texts from Bren—he’d heard about the fire—wondering if she was okay. He was moving into his cabin; did she want to come up to the winery and help him celebrate. And, hey, it was almost midnight, where was she? 

She smiled. Good old Brendan Flaherty. Her buddy had returned home from Washington, DC, nearly a year and a half ago. It was good to have him back in River’s Edge. He’d been her older brother, Mike’s, best friend since elementary school and had always treated her like his own little sister. He’d stepped right in as surrogate big brother when Mike died in Afghanistan fifteen years ago, and the two of them had helped each other through the grief. She treasured their friendship, especially now that Bren was home to stay.

Her eyes went to the photo on the mantle above the fireplace in the living room—Mike and Bren on their bikes with her sitting on Mike’s cross bar, his arm around her skinny form. The boys had been in seventh grade in the picture and at eight years old, Tierney had worshipped her older brother, although she’d always found his best buddy a little geeky. Actually, both Mike and Bren had been kind of nerdy—into computer games and science experiments and exploring the caves down by the Ohio River. 

Bren was still geeky, but in the nicest way possible. He still made a point of looking after Tierney, even though at thirty-four, she was quite capable of taking care of herself. She went into the kitchen, refilled her coffee mug, and retrieved the box of marshmallow cereal from the pantry. Plopping back down at the table, she ate fingersful of dry cereal directly from the box while she texted Holly to let her know she’d be there at three and then Bren to reassure him that she was fine and would love to come out to the winery to celebrate his new digs.

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About the Author

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Nan Reinhardt is a USA Today-bestselling author of romantic fiction for women in their prime. Yeah, women still fall in love and have sex, even after 45! Imagine! She is a wife, a mom, a mother-in-law, and a grandmother. Nan has been a copyeditor and proofreader for over 25 years, and currently works on romantic fiction titles for a variety of clients, including Avon Books, St. Martin’s Press, HarperCollins, Kensington Books, Tule Publishing, and Entangled Publishing, as well as for many indie authors.

Although she loves her life as an editor, writing is Nan’s first and most enduring passion. She can’t remember a time in her life when she wasn’t writing—she wrote her first romance novel at the age of ten, a love story between the most sophisticated person she knew at the time, her older sister (who was in high school and had a driver’s license!), and a member of Herman’s Hermits. If you remember who they are, you are Nan’s audience! Her latest series, the Four Irish Brothers Winery series is available from Tule Publishing and all book retailers. Books 1 through 3 are currently available; Book 4 releases July 16, 2020 and is available for preorder.

Visit Nan’s website at www.nanreinhardt.com, where you’ll find links to all her books as well as blogs about writing, being a Baby Boomer, and aging gracefully…mostly. Nan also blogs every third Tuesday at Word Wranglers, sharing the spotlight with five other romance authors, is a frequent contributor the RWA Contemporary Romance blog, and she contributes to the Romance University blog where she writes as Editor Nan.

Connect:

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Talk to Nan at: nan@nanreinhardt.com

Cover Reveal: The Six Month Lease by Melanie Munton

The Six Month Lease
Melanie Munton
Publication date: August 18th 2020
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance

Never have I ever…moved in with a guy after dating him for only three weeks.

Just kidding. That’s exactly what I did.

And like most of you are probably thinking, it inevitably blew up in my face when we broke up two days after signing our lease.

Now, I’m stuck living with my ex. The same man who turned my life completely upside down in record time.

For. Six. Whole. Months.

It doesn’t matter how many times he flashes those abs at me after a shower, or how close his bedroom is to mine. I will resist him because he’s simply not the right guy for me.

But if I thought he’d done a number on me before, that’s nothing compared to what happens after I finally learn the secret he’s been keeping from me this entire time.

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EXCERPT:

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end for about the seventeenth time in the past twenty minutes. So, I know that West is watching me from his position on the opposite end of the patio, where I know he’s been talking to a cute little redhead for the past four or so minutes.

Not like I’m keeping track or anything.

Not like he’s keeping track of me either.

His predatory eyes have not been stalking me through the crowd, his powerful, agile body moving like a lithe jaguar. Or a sleek panther. He’s not gnashing his teeth at every male who comes within five feet of me. And he’s certainly not resisting the urge to bound over here and piss a territorial circle around me.

He’s like a damn jungle cat.

Every man at this party might as well be his prey. His body language has signaled that he sees every walking penis as a threat. He might as well roar out his possessiveness and declare his rank in the food chain to the rest of the jungle.

When our gazes collide, something distinctly male and dominant gleams from his features. In that moment, I feel like I’ve been marked. Sirens start blaring in my head.

Danger! Danger! Danger!

“Would you please excuse me, Darren? I’m in need of a refill.”

He politely dips his head, just like the southern gentleman I’m sure his momma raised him to be. “Of course.”

Damn, he’s too nice. Why can’t I be into nice? I used to be. What the hell happened?

West.

That prick.

I find a quiet bubble where I can gather my thoughts at the far corner of the house. There’s enough seclusion that no one will accidentally stumble upon me, yet I can still hear the low hum of the party behind me. I’m staring down at my shadow in the grass when someone steps into the path of the patio lights, shrouding my secluded bubble in darkness.

Of course, he would follow me.

Because he’s become an expert at doing the exact opposite of what I want—like leaving me the hell alone. And the way his hulking shadow looms over mine is reflective of how little control I have over the situation.

West is like my own shadow.

Permanent. Trails in my wake. Undetachable.

When I twist around, I take a deliberate step back, needing that distance.

“Looks like I’ve caught myself a little social butterfly,” he grates in a low voice.

His eyes are narrowed. “Let’s talk, Harper.”

I push my hands into the pockets of my shorts, striving for confidence. “So talk.”

He snorts. “While I’ve loved your flare for exhibitionism in the past, let’s keep it private this time, shall we?”

He snags my arm and starts pulling me away from the patio before I can release the mile-long tirade poised on my tongue.

I am not an exhibitionist. We made out in an alley once. And he took some naked pictures of me on his phone once. Pictures he better have fucking deleted, or there’s going to be a nasty castration in his future.

Before we broke up, Sloane and Carter invited us over here for dinner a couple of times, so West knows his way around the property. Which is why he knows exactly where the lush gardens are and how to navigate their maze of foliage. Maintaining his hold on my arm, he drags us down the gravel path until the patio and party are no longer visible through the mass of palm fronds, hedges, and azalea bushes.

The only reason I’ve let him manhandle me up to this point is because I don’t want to make a scene at my friend’s party. I don’t want to be that couple. Not that we are a couple. Not even a little.

But no one can see us now.

And enough is enough.

I rip my arm out of his grip, my feet planting roots in the ground. “Knock it off, West. Isn’t this pissing contest routine of yours getting a little old?”

With his back facing me, he sucks in a deep breath and blows it out. The sight of his broad shoulders rising and falling with the movement mesmerizes me. I remember how sturdy those shoulders were whenever I used them as leverage to grind over his lap. It doesn’t help that the mint green button-down he’s wearing happens to be my favorite shirt of his.

A fact I know he remembers.

When his body whirls around to face me, his eyes are fierce and alert. “When have I ever given you the impression that I need to whip out a measuring stick just to get my dick wet? That pounding my chest and backing down every other man in the room somehow gets me off? Huh? When?

“Are you serious? Uh, the night at the house in front of Emerson, for one. Tonight, for two.”

“The night with Emerson was about me not wanting to witness, in my own home, how badly other men want to fuck you,” he snaps. “My own friends.”

I swallow.

The edges in his voice are sharp. Sharp enough to cut me if I don’t maintain my distance. Which proves difficult when he starts advancing on me, forcing me to retreat.

“And tonight is about me losing control because I’m being forced to finally accept that other men do want to fuck you.” My back hits a tree. “And will fuck you. At some point in the future, it’s going to happen.” He slaps his hands against the bark, his arms caging me in. “Because I’m no longer the one who is fucking you.”

Author Bio:

Traveler. Reader. Beach-goer. St. Louis Cardinals fan. Pasta-obsessed. North Carolina resident. Sarcastic. Bit of a nerd.
Author of the Cruz Brothers, Possession and Politics, and Timid Souls series, Melanie loves all things romance, comedies and suspense in particular because it’s boring to only stick to one sub-genre! From light-hearted comedies to sexy thrillers, she likes to mix it up, but loves her some strong alpha males and sassy heroines.
Go visit Melanie’s website and sign up for her newsletter to stay updated on release dates, teasers, and other details for all of her projects!

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