Available March 19, 2019

In her YA debut, New York Times bestselling author Carrie Ann Ryan dives into a world with magic and sacrifice with the Elements of Five.

Five hundred years ago, the Maison Realm was shattered, divided into warring kingdoms of elemental Wielders with fate and truth shadowed and uncertain. Now, factions of both the light and dark venture into the human realm in search of the prophesied Spirit Priestess who is said to Wield the Elements of Five and bring the two fractured kingdoms together.

Lyric has no idea that there’s a realm outside the human one she lives in. When fate and circumstances are pulled from her hands after an accident, and she finds out that nothing is at it seems.

There is a war surrounding her and when Lyric realizes that they are searching for her, she must rely on those she once trusted: a boy who isn’t who she thought, and a new realm of warriors who have come to protect her as she trains.

For the darkness is coming, and the Queen of Obscurité wants to ensure that the King of Lumière can’t get his hands on Lyric. And the only way to ensure that is if Lyric herself is no more…no matter the cost to prophecy.

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Chapter 1

The dreams didn’t come often, but when they did, it usually took me far too long to realize I could find my way out of them. At least, most of the time, I could make my way out. Other times, no matter how hard I tried to shake myself awake or tear at the seams of what the dream could be, I was forced to live within them, in the nightmares that felt far too real.

My heartbeat thudded in my ears as I tried to get my bearings once again. The dreams were never the same in what happened or even where I was when they occurred, but there was a thread that seemed familiar, as if it were calling to me in a way I could never understand.

Sometimes, I was on the fringe, watching the court of royals dance and hide their daggers of both wit and steel. Then they’d bow and turn to smoke, the ashes of their lies and hidden admissions blowing away like dust in the wind.

Other times, I was in the middle of the action, hurtling from side to side as towers fell, and water rushed by. Air blew through my hair, whipping it into my face, the earth below me trembling as fire rained down on all of us.

Tonight, however, the visions weren’t either of those. Yes, I was in the present, the dream happening to me rather than me being a witness to an absolution I would never understand.

But I stood in a clearing, winter on my back, summer facing me down with wicked heat. Spring danced along my right side with a cool warmth that didn’t make sense, while fall brushed my left, its warming coolness confusing me even further.

There were two shadows in front of me, their arms outstretched, each calling my name in whispers. I could only hear their breaths, not their voices, so I had no idea who they were or what they represented in this dream that I knew would linger long after I woke.

“Lyric,” they called in unison.

“Lyric.”

And though that was my name, it still didn’t sound as if they were truly calling to me. Instead, it was as if they called to the person they needed me to be. I wasn’t that person, though. Wasn’t what they needed, and I knew I may not ever be.

And while I still had the same body shape as I did when I was awake—my slightly larger-than-average curves filling out my dress, and my height just below average so the bottom of my hem slid along the mud—I wasn’t truly me in the dream.

My blond hair blew in the wind, catching the light and making it look white at times, gold at others. The shade was always changing depending on how much sun I took in during the season, but in this dream, it changed with the direction I turned.

It isn’t truly me, I told myself again. This wasn’t my dress, this wasn’t my life.

Those shadows couldn’t actually call to me because I wasn’t me.

“Lyric,” the shadows called again.

“Wake up,” the one nearest the spring side demanded.

“It’s time,” the one closest to fall whispered.

And though they were both whispers, they sounded like screams in my ear.

I jolted awake, my sweat-slick skin clammy as I tried to catch my breath. My tank was soaked, sticking to my body, and my shorts had ridden up as if I’d thrashed in my sleep. Considering my comforter was on the floor, and my sheet was currently a knot at the end of my bed, I would say that was probably exactly what had happened.

I swallowed hard, narrowing my eyes at the clock, trying to see what time it was. The sun was already up, even though it wasn’t quite seven in the morning, but it was summer in Denver, Colorado, and that meant blue skies, bright sun, and the occasional rain that came out of nowhere.

I had my white curtains drawn, but they didn’t really block out the light, so I’d learned to sleep through the rays on my face long ago. I had to if I ever wanted to sleep in. And since I was also a teenager, sleeping in was part of life—especially during the summer.

I might be eighteen, out of high school and ready to start college in the fall, but I still felt like the teenager who wanted to sleep in and not have to wake up early for classes. It didn’t help that my walls were still a light lilac from when I’d been in my purple phase, and there was still lace on my curtains and the skirt of my bed.

My family made a decent income, but we were firmly in the middle of middle class, and these days, that meant there wasn’t money to update my bedroom to something a little less tween girl and a little more college-bound woman. I didn’t care too much, however. I wasn’t staying here long. Soon, I’d be in a dorm at the local university, an offshoot of the University of Colorado since there was no way I could afford Boulder’s campus. Plus, this way, I could still be close to home.

Because as much as I might think I was ready to start my new life and be an adult, the nightmares that had plagued me for as long as I could remember told me that I wasn’t as grown-up as I thought.

Honestly, what kind of teenager still needed a nightlight because she was scared of the shadows?

Me, apparently. Lyric Camaron, the walking embodiment of indecision and someone not quite ready for anything.

I ran a hand over my face, holding back a gag at how sweaty I was, and let out a sigh. The dreams hadn’t happened so often before, but now they came almost every other night, and I had no idea what they meant. I’d always had a vivid imagination, but my dreams took that to a whole new level.

I wasn’t a little girl anymore, and yet I still dreamed of princes and princesses, of magic and might. I dreamed of courts and pretty dresses, and flowers and rain. Still, I thought that was probably all just a front for what the dreams actually carried. A veil across the hate and lies and mystery of everything that came with them.

I’d always secretly wanted to write them down, to make them into a book or just a few stories, but for some reason, I’d held myself back. There was no use documenting what never made sense. The dreams scared me even when they shouldn’t, and writing them down would only make them more real.

And it wasn’t like writing would help me in my real life outside of the dreams. I needed to grow up, stop thinking about fairy tales that weren’t bright and shiny, and figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up. Because I wasn’t a little kid anymore and, sadly, the time to make those choices had already started to pass me by, and I was struggling to keep up.

“Shut up, Lyric,” I mumbled to myself. It was far too early, and I still wasn’t awake enough for my mind to be going down that path. I’d likely be getting a very similar lecture from my parents over breakfast—and perhaps lunch and dinner—as it was.

They loved me, and I loved them.

And that meant I needed to be a better daughter.

The first step to doing that was getting out of bed and washing off the sweat that coated my skin. Then, I’d wash my sheets, air out my comforter, and maybe even go for a run so I could get the cobwebs out of my mind. I wasn’t a coffee fan since I tended to need far too much sugar to even like it, so I couldn’t have a cup of that to help. So, that meant chores and fresh air so I could get out of my funk, let the dreams lie where they needed to be—far from my reality—and get on with my day.

I could do that. Totally. If only I could get the images from the dream out of my mind.

Those two shadows had been in more than one of my nightmares, and I couldn’t help but think that they meant something. Who or what did they represent? Why were they important? I didn’t know if they were male or female or if they were truly people at all. If they were supposed to be love interests, then having them be either a man or a woman would only mean that my dream-self represented my real-self since I was attracted to both and had dated both in real life. But I still didn’t know what the dreams or the shadows in them really meant.

In a few, the apparitions had moved, and I could almost imagine them wanting to be even closer. They always held out their hands, as if I had to make a decision between them, to go to one or the other.

The seasons coming at me all at once seemed like another symbol for choice and change, as well. The same with the instances where I was covered in earth or water, air or flame. All of it indicated choice.

So maybe the dreams didn’t mean anything beyond what I already knew.

It was time for me to make a choice.

A choice regarding who I could be—who Lyric Camaron would be as an adult.

That choice seemed the hardest of all, and yet I knew it was important. All teenagers went through this, they all had to make decisions, no matter what course outside forces wanted them to take.

I knew there was a path laid out before me, one that would lead to a life not unlike the one I held now, one made of decisions that made practical sense. That was the one I knew I should take, the one that would be easier and yet far more thought-out.

And yet part of me wanted something different. I wanted to be a Lyric who wasn’t so middle-of-the-road as I currently was as a bisexual teenager living in Denver, Colorado.

There were choices I had to make. Clear-cut ones that had nothing to do with royals and elements, nothing to do with seasons and change.

I would make the right choice.

I had to.

And I would ignore the dreams and the idea that there could be something more for me. There hadn’t been before, and I wasn’t going to lie in wait for answers that scared me, translations of dreams that challenged me.

I would make my own way, make my own choices.

And they would be the right ones because they would be mine.

The dreams would go away eventually.

They would fade just like the young girl I used to be. In its place would be the future I needed, the one I craved.

I told myself I wouldn’t dream again. I couldn’t.

Because I didn’t want to know what those shadows meant. I didn’t want to know why they knew my name.

I didn’t want to know why it all felt so real. And, above all else, I didn’t want to know why I saw those same shadows when I was awake. Because those were the ones that scared me. The ones that were far too real.

I was Lyric, the girl with everything to look forward to. I wasn’t the girl who saw shadows, who had dreams.

I couldn’t be.

Chapter 2

After I’d put my sheets into the washer, I set the load, took a quick shower to rinse off, and headed out for my jog. I’d decided to go with long, black leggings, a hot pink sports bra under two black tanks, and a black jacket that had air holes all through it and thumb holes in the sleeves. It was my favorite jacket of all time, and I was seriously disappointed when I went to buy another one and found out that they were no longer making them. There were already frayed edges on the cuffs and, sometimes, the metal on my purse got caught in the mesh of the body, making me wince.

The fact that I had such an emotional attachment to my running gear told me I needed to get out of the house more—and not just for jogging around the neighborhood. I huffed a breath as I slowly ran up the steep hill at one of the entrances to the sub-division, cursing the fact that I lived in a mountainous city. Sure, once you got outside city lines to the east, it was all flat planes and easy walking, but within the city limits and west toward the Rockies? Hills galore that did nothing but make my side ache as I ran.

I’d always been a runner, but never in an organized way when it came to school. I hadn’t played sports or joined the cross-country team. While I played soccer and T-ball as a kid, I hadn’t been particularly good at it, not enough to focus so much of my time on it. I’d even tried gymnastics and ballet as a little girl like most kids did, but it wasn’t my thing. And while I enjoyed running—still do—doing it to compete took the fun out of it for me. I was always a little jealous of people who could put in that effort and still have fun, but for me, sports wasn’t where it was at. I did well in school, knowing I’d need any academic scholarship I could get so I could go to college, but I’d had to work at anything not English-related. Writing I could do. Writing, I loved to do.

Differentials? Not so much.

I held back a shiver at that thought and pushed myself into my second mile. I wasn’t going to do any more than that today since I wanted breakfast, and I figured that most of the strain from my dreams was now gone. But I thought I might go out again later in the day after the hottest part of the afternoon for another run. Increments worked best for me and my attention span.

I thought I caught a shadow out of the corner of my eye, but as I whipped my head to look at it, nearly tripping over my own feet as I did, I figured it was just my hair and a trick of the light. I wasn’t seeing shadows outside of dreams. I wasn’t.

I just needed to get those weird thoughts and remnants out of my head and start my day off better.

My parents hadn’t been awake when I left for my jog, but thanks to the note I placed by the coffee machine, they’d know I was out of the house. I might be an adult, but I was still their child and living under their roof. There were rules to be followed, a curfew to be kept, and manners to be upheld. I didn’t know how I was going to handle living outside of their rules when I went to the dorms, but I also didn’t think I’d be the type to go crazy like so many of the stories I’d heard growing up. I didn’t want to flunk out of college when I hadn’t even chosen my major yet. And I sure as heck didn’t want to end up drinking the whole time and wind up with a minor in possession misdemeanor or something that would forever stain my record.

No, thank you, evil temptation and all.

By the time I got home, my parents were off to work, but I knew I’d see them for dinner. My best friend Braelynn, and my ex-girlfriend/friend Emory were coming over to eat with us, and I knew my parents were excited to see what the other two ladies planned for college. In Mom’s and Dad’s way of thinking, if I knew what others were doing, it would push me to make a decision. The problem was, the more they pressured me, the more I wanted to hide in my shell like a turtle and not make a choice at all.

The dream came back to me, and I tried not to frown as I poured myself some juice and put two slices of bread into the toaster. Just because I was once again having weird dreams that I tried to make sense of, didn’t mean they actually meant anything.

I had more to do today than think about nightmares that didn’t mean anything more than I needed to watch what I ate before bed. Sure, it was summer, and I was between jobs since the coffee shop I had been working at shut down unexpectedly, but I had other things in my life. Like that whole deciding what I wanted to do with my life thing.

But first, I would focus on my friends and the certain impending doom from the conversation that would surely happen over mashed potatoes and roasted chicken tonight.

Oddly enough, I wasn’t lulled into a sense of security once my parents came home and didn’t once mention school or my future. I knew the talk was coming, but they were giving me time to drop my defenses so they could pounce.

I didn’t know why I kept floundering whenever it came to making a decision about majors and life choices, but the enormity of it just seemed overwhelming. I was eighteen, an adult who could fight and die in wars, but I couldn’t drink. I could buy cigarettes and vote, but I was still technically a teenager.

Having to make a huge life choice when all I really wanted to do was explore and learn and find out what suited me felt so far out of my depth, it wasn’t funny. I knew thousands upon thousands of people did it every year, and many of them even went in not knowing exactly what they wanted to do—but they still had an idea.

Me? I knew what I loved, but I also knew that love wouldn’t pay the bills. At least that’s what I’d been told. And, frankly, I sort of believed it.

My mind had always been full of dreams and layers upon layers of vivid imagery my imagination would tumble over and over. I loved putting those visions into work, at least in my mind. Picking a major that worked with that, wasn’t something my parents were going to go for. The idea of doing it all on my own, or choosing a major and finding out that I wasn’t really good at it or didn’t like it anymore was just too much.

It was all too much.

I saw another shadow out of the corner of my eye, and I turned, trying to catch it, only to see my father staring at me instead. His eyes were wide since I’d moved so fast, clearly startled.

“Whoa there, Lyric. Didn’t mean to scare you.” I looked like a perfect mix of my parents, something that I’d never truly noticed until I got older. I had my mom’s blond hair and height, but my dad’s light brown eyes. Everything else was a complete mix of the two, and I’d always loved that I knew where I came from, despite not knowing where I was going.

Dad continued. “I was just wondering when Braelynn and Emory would be here.” Dad didn’t particularly like Emory. Not because she was gay, and I was bisexual—that part he was totally on board with, and I knew I had the best parents for that part of my life—no, he didn’t like her because she was my ex. He didn’t get how we could still be friends after she’d dumped me. Frankly, I didn’t understand it either. Sometimes, I felt like our friendship was fraying on the edges, but I didn’t think that had to do with our breakup. We were just finding out we were two different people, and everyone was moving on to college anyway. It sucked, and I didn’t know how I felt about it. I never did, really, when it came to Emory.

That explanation hadn’t been good enough for Dad. I still didn’t know how my mother felt about it since she was so good at hiding it, but she at least put on a better face.

“They’ll be here soon.” The doorbell rang, and I grinned. “And there they are.”

Dad nodded and moved out of the way so I could make it to the door before Mom did. My parents were great, but they were parents and liked to know exactly what my friends were doing at all times, even if it wasn’t their business. I was pretty sure all parents were wired that way, and I’d learned to deal with it.

Braelynn smiled widely at me, her shoulder-length black hair up in a ponytail so I could see the honey highlights she’d put in on the lower layers. Her moms hated it, and Emory called her a skunk, but I loved them.

“Yay for dinner. I brought rolls.” Braelynn held up a basket, and I moved back to let her in, knowing that Emory was right behind my friend.

“Yay rolls! I know Mom will be happy since you and your moms make like the best bread ever.”

“Totally true. I do have the best moms.” Braelynn winked and handed over the basket as Emory sauntered in. Why she had to saunter, I didn’t know, but whatever worked for her.

“I’m starving,” Emory said in way of greeting before leaning down to buss a kiss on my cheek. She’d done that before we began dating and hadn’t stopped. Since I didn’t care either way, I didn’t push her off. Once I started to care and put up those boundaries, she’d stop. That was who she was.

“I’m hungry, too,” I said. “Hi, Emory.”

Emory studied my face and frowned. “You didn’t sleep.”

I tried to school my features, but I knew I wasn’t good at it. “I’m fine. Let’s go finish setting the table.”

“Hmm.” That was all she said as she made her way into the dining room, saying hello to my parents as if she hadn’t broken part of my heart and left me wondering what I’d done.

And…I had no idea where that thought had come from. Maybe I really needed more sleep and fewer dreams about random shadows, seasons, and elements messing with my head.

By the time we were all seated at the table, Braelynn’s rolls like manna to us all, I was on edge since Emory kept studying me. I didn’t know why, and it bugged me because I knew this dinner would only get worse when my parents brought up the dreaded subject of majors.

They always did, and I knew there was nothing I could do about it other than choose a freaking major. But I didn’t want to make the wrong choice.

I couldn’t make the wrong choice.

“So, Emory, what did you decide to study again?” Mom asked, not even trying to be subtle.

Here we go.

Emory shrugged. “Photography with a minor in history. I want to work for the AP or something, going around the world, taking photos of the people left behind in war and strife.”

My parents nodded as if they totally understood and not just because they were happy Emory had chosen a direction for her life. It didn’t matter that it was dangerous and could end up being a career that didn’t keep her financially set, Emory wasn’t their daughter.

“And, Braelynn?”

My best friend smiled sweetly. She was always so sweet, so gentle. I loved her to the end of the world and back and knew I’d chosen well on that first day of preschool when we shared our blocks.

“Vet school, eventually. I know it’s going to be hard, but it’s my passion.”

I winced at that word. Passion.

I didn’t have that, not that I could tell anyway. How was I supposed to know what to do when I still had so much to learn? I tried not to let any of those thoughts cross my face, however, because my parents turned to me, expectant looks on their faces.

They loved me. They truly did.

But they didn’t understand me.

And the thing was, I wasn’t so sure I understood myself.

One thousand years ago, there was one realm of magic. The Maison Realm. It held five kingdoms with five kings or queens, who worked together to keep the Maison people safe and ensure the balance of magic. Over the last five hundred years following the Fall, the great war that began the fracture, many of the kingdoms’ inhabitants intermated, and the magics soon became tied to one another in pairs. Except for the Spirit Wielders. The two remaining kingdoms are now converging, and the veil between the two is fading. Only the human realm lies between the two, and no one there knows there is a war surrounding them.

Over time, certain children of the Fall began to leave their respective kingdoms to venture into the human realm in search of the prophesied Spirit Priestess who is said to wield the Elements of Five and bring the two fractured kingdoms together. For the realms are dying without their sister magics. And soon, there will be no more power left to rule the kingdoms, for there will be no more kingdoms left to rule.

Carrie Ann Ryan is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of contemporary and paranormal romance. Her works include the Montgomery Ink, Redwood Pack, Talon Pack, and Gallagher Brothers series, which have sold over 3.0 million books worldwide. She started writing while in graduate school for her advanced degree in chemistry and hasn’t stopped since. Carrie Ann has written over fifty novels and novellas with more in the works. When she’s not writing about bearded tattooed men or alpha wolves that need to find their mates, she’s reading as much as she can and exploring the world of baking and gourmet cooking.

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Available March 5th, 2019

The second he walked through the door, she could tell he was trouble.

Grace knows better than to fall for a Hollywood bad boy like Scott Deacon. An arrogant movie star with a troubled past and a big honking chip on his shoulder? No, thank you. He may be sex on wheels, but beneath the charming facade he’s just another cocky jackass destined to make her job more difficult.

Except…

The more time they spend together, the hotter the fire between them burns. With every flirtatious smile and brush of his hand, she feels her defenses crumbling.

She wants to hate him, but instead she’s in danger of losing all control.

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Tuesday they were shooting on location in Jackson Square all day. The call time was two hours before dawn, so they could wring every second of sunlight out of the day, and Grace could not stop yawning on the transport van to the location.

“Wakey, wakey,” Scott said, leaning over the back of his seat to shake a plastic tumbler filled with something thick and green and disgusting-looking in front of her face.

“Ugh,” Grace grumbled. “Get that away from me.” She couldn’t help but smile a little though, even through her sleep-deprived crankiness.

An hour later, as the first streaks of light were glimmering in the sky above the river, Scott showed up at the pop-up tent where video village had been set up, and presented Grace with a white paper bag and a tall styrofoam cup from Café du Monde.

“For me?” she asked, perking up considerably. “Did you seriously walk over there and buy me coffee?” He didn’t seem to have gotten anything for anyone else. Just her. Her brain filed this information away to obsess over and analyze later, when he wasn’t standing two feet away grinning at her.

“Café au lait,” Scott said smugly. “And beignets.”

Grace narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. “Did you make one of the PAs do it?”

“As a matter of fact, I did it all by myself. And I had to take a picture with the employees, so I hope you appreciate it.”

“I do!” she said, beaming at him. “You’re officially my favorite person today.”

He blinked at her, his smirk fading into something else entirely. Whatever that expression on his face was, it sent Grace’s stomach tumbling into a free fall. Rather than examine it more closely, she focused her attention on the bag in her hand. Inside was a mountain of powdered sugar, and buried beneath it were three pillowy squares of fried dough. “Don’t inhale while you’re eating those,” Scott warned her.

“Not my first rodeo,” Grace told him, excavating a beignet. “Want one?”

“Noooo.” He held up his hands in a warding gesture. “I’m doing a water cut for that fight scene on Thursday.”

Right. He’d be shirtless, which meant the Abs of Glory would be on full display. Grace found herself looking forward to Thursday with a little more enthusiasm.

“Sucks for you,” she said, giving him a taunting grin as she bit into a beignet.

His eyes homed in on her mouth with laser beam focus. “That’s fine. I’ll just enjoy them vicariously by watching you eat.”

“Does this get you off?” she asked archly and took another bite.

Scott licked his lips. “Not gonna lie, it kind of does.”

Grace couldn’t help laughing at his retriever-staring-down-a-dog-treat expression, which led her to make the fatal mistake of inhaling with the beignet in front of her mouth. Coughing sugar out of her lungs, she clapped a hand over her mouth as a cloud of fine white powder billowed out in front of her.

Scott sidestepped the powdered sugar typhoon and patted her on the back, chuckling. “Told you not to inhale.”

About Susannah Nix

Susannah Nix is the author of quirky contemporary romances about smart women and swoony men, including the Chemistry Lessons series of romcoms featuring STEM heroines and the Starstruck series of movie star romances. She lives in Texas with her husband, two ornery cats, and a flatulent pit bull.

When she’s not writing, Susannah enjoys reading, cooking, knitting, watching too much television, and getting distracted by Tumblr. She is also a powerlifter who can deadlift as much as Captain America weighs.

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NY Times, USA Today, and #1 Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author Penelope Ward 

Noah stood up and walked off the porch to put his cigar out on the cement. When he returned, he remained standing across from me. I was reminded of just how tall he was as he towered over me. A breeze blew his scent—a mix of cigar and cologne—in my direction. The same smell saturated the shirt I was wearing. I could’ve breathed it in all night. His nearness was doing things to my body I hadn’t ever felt.

Noah looked around. “You mentioned some stuff around here needs to be repaired. What specifically?”

I blew out a breath. Even thinking about it was exhausting. “So much. I’d have to make a list.”

“Why don’t you do that? Make a list. I’m pretty good with my hands. I’ll see if there’s anything I can help with while I’m here.”

He’d lost me at pretty good with my hands. My imagination was running wild. Shit. I imagined those hands doing a lot of things—mostly to me.

“I can’t let you do that.”

“You’d be stupid not to take me up on it. I came for a change of pace, but the truth is, too much quiet isn’t good. I like to keep busy.”

Biting my bottom lip, I shook my head. “I don’t know…”

“Make the list,” he insisted.

Noah was right. It would be dumb not to take him up on his offer. It wasn’t like there was anyone else knocking down our door to help.

I tilted my head. “What would be in it for you?”

His expression turned dark. “People don’t always have to have ulterior motives.”

Suddenly feeling bold, I said, “I thought maybe you would want me to go out with you in exchange.”

Did you hear that? It was a record screeching.

I admit, that was ballsy, but being around him brought out my flirtatious side. Maybe his cologne and cigar smoke were going to my head.

“You’re joking, right?”

Okay. I shouldn’t have asked.

“Actually, I—”

“I’m practically old enough to be your father.”

Really? That’s how he saw me? I knew he was older than me…but he didn’t seem that old. No way. I’d pegged him as early thirties, though I truly had no idea how old he was.

I shook my head. “No, you’re not. That’s a lie. An older brother, maybe. How old are you?”

Instead of answering, he took two steps forward. “Let me make something clear.”

“Okay…”

“I was not insinuating anything by offering to help. And I will not be asking you out, propositioning you, or going anywhere near you, for that matter. We clear on that?”

Okay, then.

I swallowed. Disappointment washed over me as I cleared my throat. “Yes.”

“Good.” He made his way toward the door, turning around one last time. “You’d better go. It was nice chatting. Get me the list tomorrow.”

He disappeared into the house, leaving me on the porch to wallow in his lingering smell and feeling like a complete and utter idiot.

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What do you do when a sexy, older man moves into your family’s summer rental?

Well, apparently, you make a fool of yourself—over and over. Things didn’t exactly get off on the right foot with Noah Cavallari. Our first encounter was embarrassing, to say the least.

But despite that, I found myself waking up every day with a newfound energy. Nothing exciting ever happened on the lake—not until Noah moved into the small boathouse on our property. He’d booked it for the entire summer…and I was still trying to figure out why.

When my mother became ill, I inherited the responsibility of making sure our guests were well taken care of. I should have been in college. Instead, I was living my best life…as a maid.

Dark, handsome, and mysterious, everything about Noah screamed forbidden.

I knew he was just passing through town for the summer.

I knew he was probably too old for me.

Yet, I was drawn to him.

Not to mention, he tried to save my life when he mistakenly thought I was drowning.

I wanted him and made no secret of it.

His own attempts to warn me away soon gave way to late-night moonlight chats by the lake. We were slowly easing into a friendship that was gearing up to explode into something I might not recover from.

Because he’s leaving at the end of the summer.

And I have no idea what I’ll do when August ends.

Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and #1 Wall Street Journal bestselling author of contemporary romance.

She grew up in Boston with five older brothers and spent most of her twenties as a television news anchor.

Penelope resides in Rhode Island with her husband, son, and beautiful daughter with autism. 

With over one-point-five million books sold, she is a twenty-time New York Times bestseller and the author of over twenty novels. 

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Jaded and Tyed (A novelette) 

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“Bad luck always comes in threes.”

Standing in the large kitchen of the Sterling Mon­tana Guest Ranch, Will Sterling shot the woman an impatient look. “I don’t have time for this right now, Dorothea.”

“Just sayin’,” Dorothea Brand muttered under her breath. The fifty-year-old housekeeper was short and stout with a helmet of dark hair and piercing dark eyes. She’d been part of the fixtures on the ranch since Will and his brothers were kids, which made her invaluable, but also as bossy as an old mother hen.

After the Sterling boys had lost their mother, Dor­othea had stepped in. Their father, Wyatt, had con­tinued to run the guest ranch alone and then with the help of his sons until his death last year. For the first time, Will would finally be running the guest ranch without his father calling all the shots. He’d been looking forward to the challenge and to carry on the family business.

But now his cook was laid up with a broken leg? He definitely didn’t like the way the season was starting, Will thought as the housekeeper leaned against the counter, giving him one of her you’re-going-to-regret-this looks as he considered who he could call.

As his brother Garrett brought in a box of sup­plies from town, Will asked, “Do you know anyone who can cook?”

“What about Poppy Carmichael?” Garrett sug­gested as he pulled a bottle of water from the re­frigerator, opened it and took a long drink. “She’s a caterer now.”

Will frowned. “Poppy?” An image appeared of a girl with freckles, braces, skinned knees and reddish brown hair in pigtails. “I haven’t thought of Poppy in years. I thought she moved away.”

“She did, but she came back about six months ago and started a catering business in Whitefish,” Garrett said. “I only know because I ran into her at a party recently. The food was really good, if that helps.”

“Wait, I remember her. Cute kid. Didn’t her father work for the forest service?” their younger brother, Shade, asked as he also came into the kitchen with a box of supplies. He deposited the box inside the large pantry just off the kitchen. “Last box,” he an­nounced, dusting off his hands.

“You remember, Will. Poppy and her dad lived in the old forest service cabin a mile or so from here,” Garrett said, grinning at him. “She used to ride her bike over here and help us with our chores. At least, that was her excuse.”

Will avoided his brother’s gaze. It wasn’t like he’d ever forgotten.

“I just remember the day she decided to ride Lightning,” Shade said. “She climbed up on the cor­ral, and as the horse ran by, she jumped on it!” He shook his head, clearly filled with admiration. “I can’t imagine what she thought she was going to do, riding him bareback.” He laughed. “She stayed on a lot longer than I thought she would. But it’s a won­der she didn’t kill herself. The girl had grit. But I al­ways wondered what had possessed her to do that.”

Garrett laughed and shot another look at Will. “She was trying to impress our brother.”

“That poor little girl was smitten,” Dorothea agreed as she narrowed her dark gaze at Will. “And you, being fifteen and full of yourself, often didn’t give her the time of day. So what could possibly go wrong hiring her to cook for you?”

NYT and USA Today Bestselling author B.J. Daniels was born in Texas but moved with her family to Montana at the age of five. Her first home was a cabin in the Gallatin Canyon and later a lake house on Hebgen Lake outside of West Yellowstone.

Most of her books are set in Montana, a place she loves. She lives now in a unique part of the state with her husband and three Springer Spaniels.

When she isn’t writing, she loves to play tennis, boat, camp, quilt and snowboard. There is nothing she enjoys more than curling up with a good book.

Read a short sneak peek from chapter two below or grab the full, first two chapters here: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/qi0wfckd79

Figures.

It was the gorgeous guy I’d seen in the elevator. And here I thought we’d had a little spark.

Bennett Fox grinned like he’d already been named my boss and extended his hand. “Welcome to Foster Burnett.”

Ugh. He wasn’t just good looking; he knew it, too.

“That would be Foster, Burnett and Wren, as of a few weeks ago, right?” I iced my subtle reminder that this was now our place of employment with a smile, suddenly thankful my parents had made me wear braces until I was nearly sixteen.

“Of course.” My new nemesis smiled just as brightly. Apparently his parents had sprung for orthodontic care, too.

Bennett Fox was also tall. I once read an article that said the average height of a man in the US was five-foot-nine-and-a-half inches; less than fifteen percent of men stood taller than six feet. Yet the average height of more than sixty-eight percent of Fortune 500 CEOs was over six feet. Subconsciously, we related size to power in more ways than just brawn.

Andrew was six foot two. I’d guess this guy was about the same.

Bennett pulled out the guest chair next to him. “Please, have a seat.”

Tall and with gentlemanly manners. I disliked him already.

During the ensuing twenty-minute pep talk given by Jonas Stern—in which he attempted to convince us we weren’t vying for the same position, but instead forging the way as leaders of the now-largest ad agency in the United States—I stole glances at Bennett Fox.

Shoes: definitely expensive. Conservative, oxford in style, but with a modern edge of topstitching. Ferragamo would be my guess. Big feet, too.

Suit: dark navy, tailored to fit his tall, broad frame. The kind of understated luxury that said he had money, but didn’t need to flaunt it to impress you.

He had one long leg casually crossed over the other knee, as if we were discussing the weather rather than being told everything we’d worked twelve hours a day, six days a week for was suddenly at risk of being in vain.

At one point, Jonas had said something we both agreed with, and we looked at each other, nodding. Given the opportunity for a closer inspection, my eyes roamed his handsome face. Strong jaw, daringly straight, perfect nose—the type of bone structure passed down from generation to generation that was better and more useful than any monetary inheritance. But his eyes were the showstopper: a deep, penetrating green that popped from his smooth, tanned skin. Those were currently staring right at me.

I looked away, returning my attention to Jonas. “So what happens at the end of the ninety-day integration period? Will there be two Creative Directors of West Coast Marketing?”

Jonas looked back and forth between us and sighed. “No. But no one is going to lose his or her job. I was just about to tell Bennett the news. Rob Gatts announced he’ll be retiring in a few months. So there will be a position opening up for a creative director to replace him.”

I had no idea what that meant. But apparently Bennett did.

“So one of us gets shipped off to Dallas to replace Rob in the southwest region?” he asked.

Jonas’s face told me Bennett wouldn’t be happy about the prospect of heading to Texas. “Yes.”

All three of us let that sink in for a moment. The possibility of having to relocate to Texas shifted my mind back into gear, though.

“Who will make the decision?” I asked. “Because obviously you’ve been working with Bennett…”

Jonas shook his head and waved off what I was beginning to question. “Decisions like this—where two senior management positions are being merged into one office—the board will oversee and make the final determination of who gets first pick.”

Bennett was just as confused as me. “The board members don’t work with us on a daily basis.”

“No, they don’t. So they’ve come up with a method of making their decision.”

“Which is?”

“It’ll be based on three major client pitches. You’ll both come up with campaigns on your own and present them. The clients will pick which they like best.”

Bennett looked rattled for the first time. His perfect composure and self-assuredness took a hit as he leaned forward and raked long fingers through his hair.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. More than ten years, and my job here comes down to a few pitches? I’ve landed half-a-billion dollars of ad accounts for this company.”

“I’m sorry, Bennett. I really am. But one of the conditions of the Wren merger was that due consideration be given to the Wren employees in positions that might be eliminated because of duplicity. The deal almost didn’t go through because Mrs. Wren was so insistent that she not sell her husband’s company, only to have the new organization strip away all of Wren’s hard-working employees.”

That made me smile. Mr. Wren was taking care of his employees even after he was gone.

“I’m up for the challenge.” I looked at Bennett, who was clearly pissed off. “May the best woman win.”

He scowled. “You mean man.”

We hope you enjoyed this sneak peek of We Shouldn’t!

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Bennett Fox walked into my life on one hell of a crappy Monday morning.

I was late for the first day at my new job—a job I’d now have to compete for even though I’d already worked eight years to earn it, because of an unexpected merger. 

While I lugged my belongings up to my new office, a meter maid wrote me a parking summons.

She’d ticketed a long line of cars—except for the Audi parked in front of me, which happened to be the same make and model as mine.

Annoyed, I decided to regift my ticket to the car that had evaded a fine.  Chances were, the owner would pay it and be none the wiser.

Except, I accidentally broke the windshield wiper while slipping the ticket onto the car’s window.

Seriously, my day couldn’t get any worse.

Things started to perk up when I ran into a gorgeous man in the elevator.  We had one of those brief moments that only happened in movies.

You know the deal…your body lights up, fireworks go off, and the air around you crackles with electricity.  

His heated stare left me flush when I stepped off the elevator.  

Maybe things here wouldn’t be so bad after all.  

Or so I thought.

Until I walked into my new boss’s office and met my competition.

The gorgeous man from the elevator was now my nemesis. His heated stare wasn’t because of any mutual attraction.  It was because he’d saw me vandalize his car. And now he couldn’t wait to annihilate his rival. 

There’s a fine line between love and hate—and we shouldn’t cross it.  

We shouldn’t—but straddling that line could be so much fun.

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Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times, #1 Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author. With millions of books sold, her titles have appeared in over a hundred Bestseller lists and are currently translated in two dozen languages. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.

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She’s mending guitars and her life. He’s trying to forget the war with music. Will one broken instrument make their love a smash hit?

Jenna Olsen isn’t sure she’ll ever escape her terrible choices in love. Becoming a skilled guitar craftsperson helped with the anxiety, but she dreams of the day when she can trust someone again. When an up-and-coming country star asks for a custom guitar in an impossible time-frame, Jenna falls for the challenge… and the man.

Camden Grace loves his music and adores his fans. His passions help him cope with the physical wounds he sustained in Iraq, but he remains haunted by his fractured family history. After his latest angry outburst leaves an expensive guitar shattered, he doesn’t expect to find a strong-willed woman whose struggle echoes his own.

As the instrument and their feelings start to come together, an old would-be flame attempts to sabotage their relationship with increasingly aggressive behavior. Will a jealous rival kill more than their careers or will Jenna and Camden rise above the rage to heal their hearts forever?

Deep in the Heart is a new adult contemporary romance with a melody of music. If you like sizzling chemistry, raw emotions, and wounded heroes, then you’ll love Alexa Padgett’s compelling novel.

Buy Deep in the Heart to strike a chord of love today!

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“Nothing wrong with that. But we’re off task. Talked with your grandfather earlier when I stopped by.”

“When was that?”

“’Bout four, I guess.”

“Sorry I missed you. We still need to meet to finalize those details.”

In an honest moment, I admitted I wasn’t ready to deal with Cam— and my growing feelings for him tonight.

“Can we meet tomorrow? I’m not at work, and I can’t seem to wake up all the way.” No way I was going to tell him that I had never been so desperate to have him like me.

“We could, but I have an idea I want to go over with you. Came to me this morning when I was in the shower.”

Great. Now, on top of everything else, I was going to have the image of Cam, naked, in the shower covered in soap, branded in my overwrought brain.

Damn brain created one hell of an image, and I needed to fact check its veracity. “I’ll throw in dinner to sweeten the deal,” he said.

My heart flipped at the idea of going on a date with Cam. He was so sexy. And a bigger star than Kai and the rest of his band, meaning we’d get mobbed by fans. That was rule numero uno of no-go in Jenna-Land: no crowds equaled minimal freak-outs.

“I’m not up for an evening out.”

“Didn’t think you would be after last night. I’ll bring food to you. You like ’cue?”

“Am I from Texas?” I retorted.

Cam chuckled. “Want pulled pork or brisket?”

“Um… both? With a loaded baked potato.”

“More of a Pappa’s girl, huh? Sacrilege to my true-blood Stubb’s. I’ll throw in some ribs.”

“Whatever,” I said on a yawn. “If you bring ribs, be prepared to see me covered in sauce.”

Cam groaned. “Really? Not an image I needed.”

“Not one I meant to send,” I said with a smile because yes, it was. To get even for his oh-so-not-innocent shower comment. “I have some Beerworks Peacemaker my brother left here when we were watching the game.”

“You like college football?”

“Cam,” I said on a sigh. “We’ve established I’m from Texas. I have two older brothers. Yes, I like football, both professional and college. As if there’s another sport I’d watch.”

“All good points. I have an older brother, too. A whole eleven minutes older. See, we have tons in common, Jenna. Now, text me your address and I’ll be there in…”

“At least an hour,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Sugar plums are made faster than you’ll pick up an order at Stubb’s.”

“Oh, ye of little faith. I’m taking that as a bet.”

“What? Whoa! I don’t bet. I never said anything about a bet.”

“Too late.”

My heart rate kicked up to that of a galloping horse. “No, siree with a cherry on top. Nope.”

“You afraid? C’mon, I’ll make it easy on you. If I can get there faster than an hour, I get to take you out on a date. Day of my choosing but in the next week.”

“This is stupid…”

“And if you win, you get to take me out on a date.”

“Win-lose ratio’s off there, buddy.”

But he’d already hung up. Somehow that didn’t surprise me. Camden Grace got what he wanted— when he wanted it. All those fans, hits, and money created that alpha personality. Or maybe he was always the top dog and could now enforce his desires.

“What did you get me into, Pop-pop?” I tossed my phone back onto my coffee table and rubbed my palms over my face.

For now, Cam seemed interested in spending time with me. And I might… yeah, for better— probably worse— want to see him, too.

About Alexa Padgett

With a degree in international marketing and a varied career path that includes content management for a web firm, marketing direction for a high-profile sports agency, and a two-year stint with a renowned literary agency, award-winning author Alexa Padgett has returned to her first love: writing fiction.

Alexa spent a good part of her youth traveling. From Budapest to Belize, Calgary to Coober Pedy, she soaked in the myriad smells, sounds, and feels of these gorgeous places, wishing she could live in them all—at least for a while. And she does in her books.

She lives in New Mexico with her husband, children, and walk-loving Great Pyrenees pup, Ash. When not writing, schlepping, or volunteering, she can be found in her tiny kitchen, channeling her inner Barefoot Contessa.

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For the past year, Dru has put everything she has into building a catering business with her sisters. She’s so used to working until all hours of the night with them by her side, that when they both find love and move out, Dru decides to focus on something that has always weighed on her… finding the father who’d abandoned them.

For the past year, Mick has been living the good life. A content bachelor with his own business as a private investigator, he enjoys making his own decisions and answering to no one. When a couple of clients-turned-friends bring him in contact with Dru, his first thought is that he wouldn’t mind getting her alone for a night, but when she hires him, that spark is extinguished. Mick doesn’t mix business with pleasure.

When their lives become constantly entwined, Dru becomes more and more determined to get Mick to break his rules. Will they discover that even a seemingly perfect dish, can be made better with the right amount of spice, or are they too set in their ways?

I shot a couple longing looks at Mick, who managed to make that suit look incredible, even though I’d just seen him in it at Tasha’s wedding. How come men could do that? Buy one suit to wear to every event, and get no flack, while if women got caught wearing the same dress repeatedly, it was like there was something wrong with her?

Why couldn’t I find the perfect dress … one that made me feel sexy, comfortable, and confident, and wear it to everything?

Stupid double standards.

I walked straight to the bar and ordered a Lemon Drop with the sole intention of getting drunk, and made a list of rules for myself.

You will not fawn over Mick.

You will not get so drunk that you throw up.

You will be the funny, fun, party sister, not the green with envy, bitter, crying in the corner sister.

And, again, you will not fawn over Mick. He made his policy clear, and I had too much pride to go after a man who didn’t want me.

———————-

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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Wearier by the second, Shiloh scrubbed a hand down his face. “This is my first All War. I knew it would be tough, but I am my home’s strongest competitor, and I believed I could do…anything. I was wrong.”

“You sound as if you’re eager to die. Good news. I’m happy to help.”

“I’m sure you are, but I don’t want to die. I don’t want to kill, either.”

“Ah, I see. You’d rather make your people suffer.”

Shiloh glowered.

For the “privilege” of participating in an All War, a realm’s sovereign had to give the High Council thou­sands of children. The exact number depended on a combatant’s order of elimination. The faster you were eliminated, the more your realm had to pay. But in order to forfeit a war entirely, sovereigns had to hand over even more children.

From infancy to the age of eighteen, boy or girl, chil­dren were chattel, commodities raised to be Enforcers.

Only the winning realm was exempt.

“My people already suffer,” Shiloh said. “Our realm is overcrowded.”

Iviland was overcrowded as well, more and more im­mortals born or created every day. New realms were desperately needed.

In the beginning, whenever a new one was discov­ered, multiple armies invaded at once. Battles raged, the trespassers hoping to seize control. Violence spread far and wide, ultimately destroying everything, leaving the lands uninhabitable.

Under the guise of saving future domains, ruling factions created the High Council and All War—an on­going battle between a single representative from each otherworld, the new realm acting as the arena.

In the past few months, the people of Terra had begun fighting back and setting traps. Not a first, but definitely a problem on days like today. The citizens weren’t bound by assembly rules. But then, they had no supernatural abilities and were no match for immortals.

Knox had seen no sign of a human army today. Maybe they’d fled in fear? To them, combatants were gods.

Knox, they’d nicknamed Loki, the “evil trickster.” A moniker he bore with pride.

“When I killed a woman I respected, a part of my soul died,” Shiloh said, pulling him from his thoughts. “Why can’t the realms reach terms without bloodshed?”

“Greed.” Why else?

Movement at the side of a mountain. Knox slid his gaze across the ice—at last. Zion. A man of six and a half feet, like Knox, with dark hair, wide shoulders and a body honed on the most savage battlefields with no hint of softness. Also like Knox.

But unlike Knox, he refused to use the weapons he won. Reasons unknown. The choice angered Knox, even though it aided his cause. Such a waste.

He tightened his grip on his most prized possessions—the daggers he’d taken from his first victim. The blades were serrated, hooked at the tip, and had brass knuckle hilts. With a single blow, he could slice, dice and pul­verize.

Zion reached the check-in point and spread his arms, all Here I am, come and get me. Embedded in his arms were jewels, each one set in specific patterns, as bold as the man himself. On his hands, a pair of spiked metal gloves able to punch through anything.

I want. I take.

Locked on tonight’s target.

Anticipation resurged and redoubled, burning inside Knox, and growing hotter by the second. Zion was a warrior he would gladly slay.

“Come.” Knox jumped from his perch, falling down, down, landing a few yards away from the check-in point. Though the impact jarred him, he walked forward without a hitch in his step, boots crunching in the snow.

Shiloh jumped, as well, and hurried to catch up.

As they passed the invisible wall that sealed them inside the clearing, Knox experienced a familiar and abhorrent vibration from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. His ability to control shadows had just been neutralized.

“So nice of you to join us,” Bane said, his tone as smug and condescending as ever.

Like most Adwaewethians, he had pale hair, golden eyes—and a beast trapped within. When the creature took control of his body, his appearance changed. He became a monster, hideous beyond compare, strong beyond compare, and developed an appetite for blood. No one and nothing was safe.

About Gena Showalter:

Gena Showalter is the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of the spellbinding Lords of the Underworld and Angels of the Dark series, two young adult series–Everlife and the White Rabbit Chronicles–and the highly addictive Original Heartbreakers series.  In addition to being a National Reader’s Choice and two time RITA nominee, her romance novels have appeared in Cosmopolitan (Red Hot Read) and Seventeen magazine, she’s appeared on Nightline and been mentioned in Orange is the New Black–if you ask her about it, she’ll talk for hours…hours!  Her books have been translated in multiple languages.

She’s hard at work on her next novel, a tale featuring an alpha male with a dark side and the strong woman who brings him to his knees. You can learn more about Gena, her menagerie of rescue dogs, and all her upcoming books at genashowalter.com or Facebook.com/genashowalterfans

 “If you love military romance, if you love suspense, then TICK TOCK will be for you”

TICK TOCK is out on 1st November.

“A story of courage and compassion in the darkest places”

 “What’s the time, Mr Wolf?”

Forget SEALS, Marines, Fighter Pilots – I have the most dangerous job in the world. And I love it.

James Spears is part of an elite group who lives and breathes danger. Where others run from it, he walks towards it, calm, focussed ice-cold. James is a top EOD operative.

Explosive…

Ordnance…

Disposal…

You’d call him a bomb disposal expert. Or crazy. A guy with a death wish. He’s heard it all before and he doesn’t give a shit. He’s the best.

They say he doesn’t have blood in his veins, he has ice. They say he has no nerves.All that’s about to be tested.

Amira is recruited by the CIA to infiltrate a terrorist cell living in rural Pennsylvania. She’s the perfect plant, no one would ever suspect her. Because her brother was killed when a bomb was dropped on the Syrian hospital where he was working as a doctor. And now hate burns deeply inside her. She’s perfect.

That’s what they tell James when he’s told to train her to be the best damn bomb-maker there is. In a secret camp, deep in the woods, James teaches her everything he knows about building bombs. He’s not a praying man, but now he’s really hoping that he’s doing the right thing.

Can he trust her? Will she ever trust him? Who is playing who? And who will pay the ultimate price?

Codename: Hansel and Gretel

Book 1 in the EOD Series

 TICK TOCK – the new romantic suspense novel from best-selling author Jane Harvey-Berrick

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Prologue – James

We’re born alone and we die alone.

I’ve never been afraid of dying. It’s living that scares the hell out of me.

But in the bomb suit, I am utterly alone.

There is no today, no yesterday, no tomorrow.

Just here, right now.

There is no God, no Devil, no good, no evil.

Just me. And the sound of my breathing, loud and rhythmic.

Just me. And this bomb.

A bomb is a device that is designed to kill, maim or harass.

I’m not afraid. I don’t have time to be afraid.

The sun burns down, the light is a white haze, sweat runs into my eyes. The longer I’m out here, kneeling in the dust, the more vulnerable the team watching my back.

I can’t be quick. I have to be certain.

Because if I’m wrong, I die.

I am an EOD operator.

Explosives

Ordnance

Disposal.

Bomb disposal.

I am the Tick Tock man.

She was his best friend, his first love. And she broke his heart. Now she’s back. Will they find a second chance?

As a little girl, Andrea Harmon wanted to marry a prince, and Kyle Davenport hoped it would be him. But he never told her how he felt, and lost her as a result. Because sometimes the bad guy gets the girl. And Kyle left town to get over her.

Andi made the wrong choice years ago, choosing the bad boy over the best friend she trusted and she paid for it every day since.

Coming face to face with his former best friend was bound to happen once he moved back to Rosewood Bay, but for Kyle, becoming her son’s new teacher is a painful reminder of what they never had. But this time around, Kyle is determined to change their ending. Prince Charming is determined to break down her walls.

Except that no happily-ever-after is won without a fight—and her ex-husband doesn’t like to lose.

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“I didn’t mean to drag you away from Kimberly. You two seemed to be hitting it off.”

He didn’t pull his hand away from her face, struck by the tinge of something in her voice. Jealousy? And if so, why did it please him that she cared?

“Kimberly was like a leech who wouldn’t let go. She even used her sick brother’s story to hang on to me. I wasn’t doing anything more than offering sympathy,” he said, opting for the truth.

Andi blinked, unmistakable relief in her pretty brown eyes. “Really?”

“Did it bother you when you thought I was into her?” he heard himself asking, knowing he hadn’t planned to go down this road, but the attraction between them was a real, tangible thing.

His fingers itched to run through her thick, wavy hair, and he couldn’t tear his gaze from her glossed lips as she ran her tongue nervously over them. Not to mention the energy it took not to look down at her full breasts beneath the jersey.

“Would it upset you if I said it did? That watching you with her stirred up feelings that took me by surprise?”

“I shouldn’t want you, Andi. You hurt me. Took a fucking knife to my heart. But that was in the past. And what’s going on now between us is the present.”

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the past alive despite them both wanting to put it behind them. But everything inside him was pulled toward her now, drawn to her fragile strength and beauty.

He dipped his head and pressed his mouth to hers. Warm and giving, her soft lips moved beneath his. His hand slid around her jaw, tilting her head, giving him better access as his tongue delved into her mouth and tangled with hers. Finally, finally, finally, finally. His heart beat out the word in rapid rhythm, a long-held desire coming true as her kiss turned him inside out.

He explored the deep recesses of her mouth, tasting her essence, aware of his body’s reaction, the swell of his cock behind his jeans, the spike in adrenaline, the racing of his pulse.

Despite the pain, the anger, the hurt, this was the girl of his dreams and she was in his arms, eagerly accepting his kiss. He slid his hand into her hair, grasping the thick strands between his fingers and tugging as the kiss turned hotter and he backed her against the vanity, his waist flush against hers, his hard erection cradled between her thighs. His cock throbbed with unappeased need, desire flowing between them.

Until a hard knock sounded on the door, startling them into breaking apart. She looked at him, wide-eyed, the surprise etched in her face as strong as the shock rippling through him.

“Be right out,” he called to the person on the other side of the door.

He glanced at Andi, her face now flushed a bright red. “There’s no way to avoid walking out together, is there?” she asked.

“Whether you go first or last, whoever it is heard my voice.” Her blush deepened.

“Well, then here’s to giving them something more to talk about.”

Start the Series of Standalones Today!

Fearless

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Carly Phillips is the N.Y. Times and USA Today Bestselling Author of over 50 sexy contemporary romance novels, including the Indie published, Dare to Love Series. She is happily married to her college sweetheart, the mother of two nearly adult daughters and three crazy dogs. Carly loves social media and is always around to interact with her readers.

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