One firm knuckle lifted her chin, and she fought him, but finally faced his dark eyes. God, she was exhausted. She’d fight again tomorrow. Tonight, she needed sleep.

His gaze searched her face. “The keys are in the ignition. Take the truck and go wherever you want. You can borrow it until I get your tires fixed.” He started to take a step back.

Going against all reason, she grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled him toward her. “I-I can’t take your truck.” What the heck was he talking about?

He sighed, his body rolling with the movement. “Listen. You’re cold and scared, and you need to get warm. You’re frightened of me, so I’m letting you take my truck to get to safety. Now go, and I’ll handle your tires.”

The words barely computed. She swallowed, looking up at his strong jawline. With the darkness behind him, he appeared even larger than usual, as if that were possible. He’d carried her through the storm, and now he was letting her go. He’d asked for nothing. So she levered up and kissed him.

Shock ripped through her system from one touch.

He jerked and another low growl rumbled up from his chest.

She leaned back, her mouth opened in an ‘o’, her body flashing hot in a way she’d never felt before. Wild and free and alive. Dangerously on the edge of something…new.

His jaw ticked. Tension rolled off him, steaming up the windows, even though the door remained open.

She gingerly reached up and touched her still sparking bottom lip, her gaze seeking his. Had he felt that? If so, what the heck was it? “Who are you?” she asked.

He barked out a laugh and slid one firm hand along her face. The entire side of her face. “I’m the guy you just kissed. Kind of. Care to explain why?”

“Kind of?” She barely kept herself from turning into that heated palm. “What do you mean? Kind of?”

His chin lifted just enough. “That wasn’t a kiss, baby. Not even close.”

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. For the love of all that is holy and sane, don’t say it. “What is a kiss?” she asked. Yep. She’d said it.

“You want me to show you?” he rumbled, his eyes somehow looking even darker than usual.

No. Definitely no. Not in a million years. “Yes,” she whispered.

He didn’t ask twice. Leaning down, he drew her partially up, and his lips took hers. Firm and warm, he kissed her, the touch gentle velvet over hard steel. His lips molded to hers, softly probing, sliding warmth down her jawline to touch every inch of her body.

She sighed, leaning up, opening her mouth in acceptance. Her eyelashes fluttered shut, and she let herself just feel. Something good and strong and hot. Then she tentatively kissed him back.

About Rebecca Zanetti:

New York Times and USA Today Bestseller Rebecca Zanetti is the author of over twenty-five dark paranormals, romantic suspense, and contemporary romances. She lives in the wilds of the Pacific Northwest with her own Alpha hero, two kids, a couple of dogs, a crazy cat…and a huge extended family. She believes strongly in luck, karma, and working her butt off…and she thinks one of the best things about being an author, unlike the lawyer she used to be, is that she can let the crazy out.

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Excerpt

As he waited for his breathing to calm, I took a moment to marvel in the bulk of the man lying on top of me. My fingers slid across golden skin colored with a collage of intricate pictures, symbols and words. My palm curved around strong deltoid muscles that were well-rounded and powerful. He was big. Strong. Lethal. And probably not interested in being the father of my baby.

The thought made me shift uneasily beneath him. I had to get out of there. I needed to be alone to collect my thoughts and find my senses. I wiggled and Caleb rolled off me. I thought he would let me go but he didn’t. Instead he turned my face towards him and kissed me hard on the mouth.

But I was leaving. I sat up and began looking for my panties on the floor. Finding them wedged under the corner of the bed, I slipped them on and began hunting for my skirt.

“Where are you going?” He asked.

“I have to go.”

“Why are you always running away from me?” He said, an amused sparkle in his eyes. “Will I see you again?”

I paused and looked at him over my shoulder. “Do you want to?”

He grinned and I was momentarily taken back by how beautiful it was.

How beautiful he was.

“Hell darlin’, I don’t want you to leave.”

I resumed looking for my skirt. “I have to leave. I have things to do.”

I found my skirt in a tangle with my shirt at the foot of the bed.

“At least let me give you a ride home.” He sat up.

“Its fine. I can call a cab.” I stood up and slipped my shirt on.

“I’m not letting you take a cab.”

“Really its fine.”

He climbed off the bed, unfazed by his nakedness, and began looking for his boxer shorts. I paused to drink in the fine display of his muscular body and his still swollen manhood swinging between his powerful thighs. It was obvious he took very good care of his body.

He slipped on his jeans and by the time I had buttoned my blouse and found my phone and shoes, he was fully dressed and securing his wallet chain to his jeans.

“Ready?” He asked.

There was no point arguing.

As he opened the bedroom door, I mentally braced myself. I wasn’t looking forward to the walk of shame through the clubhouse. But the hallway was quiet and the clubhouse was still. Sometime in the night the music had stopped and the party had wound down.

As soon as I entered the bar, the stench of last nights partying hit me like a bat to the face and I had to hold my breath.  The bar was littered with snoring bikers and the odd club girl asleep where they had passed out. Bottles lay scattered and spilled everywhere. Stale booze and body odor were ripe in the air. Caleb took my hand and led me through the mess, stepping over discarded bottles and sleeping bodies. Musty smoke glittered in the dusty rays of sunlight bursting into the room from a window above the jukebox.

Across the room, an older biker was quietly having sex with a large, partially dressed woman up against the pool table. His jeans were down around his ankles and his eyes were closed as he lazily rocked into her. The slap, slap of her large wobbly boobs against the pool table broke the stillness of the morning.

Further away, a naked woman lay slumped at the base of a stripper pole with everything open and on display. She hugged a half-spilled bourbon bottle and snored loudly. As we passed by her, Caleb shook his head and grabbed a discarded shirt from a nearby chair to cover her.

“Is she alright?” I whispered.

“Yeah, that’s Candy. It’s not the first time she’s passed out there and it won’t be the last.”

I glanced around me. This place. These people. This was Caleb’s world. And it reeked of bad choices. Nausea roiled in the pit of my stomach and I barely made it outside in time before losing the contents of my stomach.

“Jesus, are you okay?” Caleb asked, coming up behind me.

I gestured for him to give me a moment as another wave of nausea washed over me and I vomited again.

“You drink too much?” he asked when I finally straightened and walked over to him. “I don’t remember you being drunk.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t drink a thing.”

He handed me a helmet. “Are you okay to ride? Or do you need a minute?”

“I’ll be okay.”

He led me over to a row of motorcycles parked alongside the clubhouse. His was a big black beast with lots of chrome gleaming in the early morning light.

Before he climbed on, he touched my hand. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

I smiled brightly but it was fake because I felt weird. Out of place. I didn’t belong there.

“Yes. I’m fine.” I said, very aware that I needed to get out of there. I did up my helmet and climbed onto the back of his bike. “Lets ride.”

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Author Bio

 

 

Esther has only craved to be loved by one man, the Wolfe who hides behind his broken ice blue eyes.

Unfortunately, the wild man she craves has desires that she doesn’t feel able to fill. These desires will destroy her if she allows them.

Wolfe, the road captain for the Savage Beast MC, is known for his ruthlessness. The forty-year-old has demons that haunt the beast inside of him.

He cannot be the man who deserves to love her. He knows it’s wrong. He knows it will break her, but he cannot help himself. She wants a wild man. He is as wild as they come.

Two souls searching for a way to find acceptance, love, and healing in physical pleasures. Both lost. One the devil. One a fallen angel. When they finally give in to their lust, their love blossoms like neither imagined possible.

Barefooted, I walk outside. The sun is hot in the late summer sky, it beats down on me immediately. Squinting, I head out toward the fencing at the edge of the property. I haven’t been outside of these gates in days. I’ve eaten whatever I can find in the kitchen, which to be honest, with a building full of men who have an aversion to vegetables, isn’t all that great.

My feet burn against the rock and dirt beneath them, but I don’t mind it too much. At least I can fucking feel something. The desert can be ruthlessly beautiful, much like Raff. Lifting my hands, I grip the links of the gate, resting my forehead against the hot metal.

“You thinking of running?” a deep voice asks, sending chills down my spine.

I don’t move, I haven’t heard that voice in days and it sounds like heaven. I should despise it. I should hate every part of it, but I can’t. Turning around, I look into his eyes and my heart sinks. He looks exhausted, he looks beat up, he looks like fucking hell.

“Raff?” I ask. He only shakes his head, his feet slowly shuffle toward me until my back is pressed against the fencing and I’m forced to tip my head back to look into his face.

His mouth slams against mine, his tongue forcing its way inside of my mouth and I moan when he tastes me. Lifting my hands, I grip his shoulders, digging my nails into the leather of his cut. His hips shift and I feel his hard length press against my belly.

I was born and raised in a small farming town in California. I met my husband when I was 16 and he was 19. We married four years later and have two little boys! We lived in Oregon for a few years while he served in the US Coast Guard.

Texas is now where we call home, where our boots rest, and where we’re raising our two little boys and a chocolate lab named Optimus Prime.

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Drummer Ryder Chord has been living half a life since he was sixteen and his twin sister was murdered. He throws himself into his music. When Lexi Evanovich joins the band, life becomes almost tolerable. Until one day when the rest of the band isn’t there and Ryder and Lexi have to share a hotel room: with only one bed.

Rule number one of band-dom: You never sleep with anyone in the band.

Rule number one of bro code: You never sleep with anyone’s sister. You definitely never sleep with your best friend’s little sister.

Rule number it’s so obvious it’s a count even a drummer can keep: You Never. Ever. Sleep with your best friend’s little sister when she’s in the band…and he is too.

I hear a very loud clomp of boots. Jase comes in the bus hauling Hit Man over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

Jase gives me one ‘I am disappointed in you, Goat-fucker’ stare, and walks right past us to put Hit Man down in his bunk.

Jase lays down in his own bed and turns away from me.

I point to my bunk and Lexi gets in it. I curl my big body around her.

I hug her tightly but that makes it worse, not better. What if it had been different? What if that guy had wanted to steal her away, not protect her? What if I had not been right on stage, but had been off stage stowing my gear? What if she had been kidnapped and— I can’t even finish the thought because my breathing gets so ragged and shallow I’m worried I’ll hyperventilate.

“I can’t do this. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t be like this when something might happen to you.”

Rewind.

Zeeter: ‘You can’t worry about what never was, what might be. You can’t stress about what hasn’t happened.’

Lexi: ‘I’m okay. I’m fine. He was a good guy.’

Me: ‘We don’t need her! I don’t need her.’

I try to concentrate on the now, on the feeling of Lexi in my arms, the bunk under my side. “What if she was taken by a bad guy?” I mumble to myself.  “I can’t do this. I can’t live like this.”

“Are you breaking up with me?”

I rock back and forth, the motions slight, moving Lexi with me. “This can’t be my life. I can’t do this.”

I feel a warm, calming hand on the center of my back. Jase. He doesn’t say anything. He’s just there. Then his face must move closer, because I feel and hear his breathing. His breaths get slower and slower. In and out. In and out. Slower. Calmer.

His palm gets warmer, as if he is sending his assurance into me.

“You’re right,” he says. His voice is slow and deep. “You can’t do this. We do this. You never need to do this alone. Because…” he presses his thumb next to my spine, a steady, strong presence, “We are always a team. Always. We carry our burdens, our fears, and our successes together. That’s what we do. Even when it feels like we can’t.”

Jase uses his other hand to grab the back of my neck. He squeezes hard, and then even harder. “It feels like you can’t, yeah, but we can. If it feels like we can’t, that’s just a feeling. The truth is, we can. Because…” he pauses and squeezes my neck even harder, and it triggers some kind of response, like a cat being held by a parent, a primal feeling of safety. “Because…we are stronger than we realize. We are rock solid. Our past shaped us, but it does not define us. WE define us. And do you know what I say? We are pretty damn awesome. You suck eggs. But we, together, are magnificent. We can do anything.”

M. J. Roberts is a writer, editor, and teacher – with more than two million copies of her stories in circulation worldwide, Roberts is well loved for creating characters who feel as real as your most cherished friends. Roberts works to diligently to create believable, lovable characters, witty dialogue, prose ripe with metaphor, exciting plot twists, action that keeps you on the edge of your seat, and romance scenes that sizzle.

Roberts is a multiple award-winning author including first place in the prestigious Summer Lovin’ Romance Literary Contest 2015 for the novel Risk Your Heart.

Roberts also writes under the pen name Natasha Action. Roberts is originally from New York but lives in the southern United States for the purpose of endless comic material.

She’s married to a professional musician (A.K.A. The Rock and Roll God) because she is too busy tormenting imaginary characters and counting her blessing to pursue her longtime dream of Rock n’ Roll stardom herself.

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Esther has only craved to be loved by one man, the Wolfe who hides behind his broken ice blue eyes.

Unfortunately, the wild man she craves has desires that she doesn’t feel able to fill. These desires will destroy her if she allows them.

Wolfe, the road captain for the Savage Beast MC, is known for his ruthlessness. The forty-year-old has demons that haunt the beast inside of him.

He cannot be the man who deserves to love her. He knows it’s wrong. He knows it will break her, but he cannot help himself. She wants a wild man. He is as wild as they come.

Two souls searching for a way to find acceptance, love, and healing in physical pleasures. Both lost. One the devil. One a fallen angel. When they finally give in to their lust, their love blossoms like neither imagined possible.

Esther sighs, but I know she’s asleep, we’ve totally worn her out. “Yeah, she is. This isn’t what she wants though,” I say, my words are true, even if I don’t want to believe them. I know that Esther doesn’t want this forever, as a permanent situation and neither does Mamba. This, the three of us together, it’s only temporary.

“It’s not. She knows it’s what you want though. She loves you,” he says.

Clearing my throat, I look up at the ceiling. I know she loves me, and I’m exploiting that by getting what I want, the way I want it. I know she’s not going anywhere, she’ll be here and do what I want until she breaks. Thing is, I don’t want her to break. I want her to crave the same shit that I do. I want for her to be as damaged as I am, and that makes me a sick son of a bitch.

“You stayin’ here tonight?” I ask, not responding to his observation of Esther’s obvious love.

Mamba doesn’t answer with words, he shoves his thigh between Esther’s legs and grunts. Closing my eyes, I chuckle. Though this is not permanent, I have a feeling what we do have between the three of us will be fun, and enjoyable, for all of us for now.

I was born and raised in a small farming town in California. I met my husband when I was 16 and he was 19. We married four years later and have two little boys! We lived in Oregon for a few years while he served in the US Coast Guard.

Texas is now where we call home, where our boots rest, and where we’re raising our two little boys and a chocolate lab named Optimus Prime.

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Kyra Jacobs is an extroverted introvert who has always called Indiana home. That means she’s well versed in fickle weather, pork tenderloin patties that don’t fit on a bun, and sarcasm. Putting her Indiana University degrees in Public Management to good use by day means Kyra does the bulk of her writing late into the night. Fueled by caffeine and funny memes, she weaves tales of love and relationships, including the humor and/or chaos both can bring. Kyra’s published novels range from sweet contemporary romance to chick lit and paranormal/fantasy.

When this Hoosier native isn’t at a keyboard, daydreaming through her fingertips, she’s likely outside, elbow-deep in snapdragons or on a sideline somewhere cheering (loudly) for her sporty sons. Kyra also loves to go bowling, tries to golf, and is an avid college football fan.

Standing here toe-to-toe with Felicity, he found his resolve wavering.

Not that it would matter. Another verbal joust or two, he sensed, and she’d be on her way. As much as he hated the idea of upsetting her, her staying bothered him far more.

Across the room, a perky mambo-style song began to play. Felicity’s features quickly shifted from irate to worried. She spun from him to retrieve a phone from her purse.

“Hey, Laur, what’s up? Wait, slow down. My duplex is what?”

Felicity turned and hurried toward the foyer, her voice a quiet rush. As she did, Edna rose from her chair and came over to smack him upside the head.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she said in a hiss.

“What? You always said honesty should come above all else.”

That earned him a second wallop. “You can be honest and still use tact, you nincompoop. I expect you to apologize when she comes back.”

“But—”

“No buts. If she’s been hired to be your personal assistant, then you let her. Heaven knows the poor girl and her son need all the help they can get right now.”

Scott hung his head. Saying it like that, Edna made him sound like some evil villain out to swindle a fair maiden. Not used to playing the bad guy, he tried to come up with a new plan.

Maybe they could work together to trick J.B. into thinking she was doing the PA thing. Because, aside from giving him a ride to his weekly doctor visits, there really wasn’t any other reason for her to be around. All he had to do was convince her to fib to his agent, and they’d both be better off. For the first time since this crazy arrangement had been sprung on him, Scott actually looked forward to his next conversation with her.

“Besides, that one’s a keeper.”

Oh no. He needed to put a stop to that kind of thinking, ASAP.

Scott threw his grandmother a warning look. “She’s not a date, Grandma. She’s my assistant.”

“Mm-hmm.” Her cotton-ball brows waggled. “Wanna put a wager on it?”

“Do we need to have another talk about your gambling problem?”

“Bah, Ohio’s taken the fun out of you.”

Felicity rushed back into the room, worry etched across her beautiful face.

 Wait, beautiful?

“As much fun as it was arguing with you, Scott, I’m afraid I need to go. My penny-pinching landlord finally cut one too many corners, and the apartment connected to mine caught fire earlier. Our half is in the process of being condemned.”

Scott could hardly believe his ears. She was leaving? And not because of him?

He felt badly for her, truly he did. But silently? He did a mental fist pump.

“Condemned?” Edna cursed, and not under her breath. “I always knew that Harvey Gregory was a no-good miser. But honey, where will you go?”

“To my cousin’s, to see if she knows anyone who can spare us a room for the next few days. Or maybe she’ll just shoehorn us into her basement. I don’t know.”

Guilt ate at Scott as Felicity’s voice wavered. As much as he wanted her gone, his heart went out to the woman and her smiley, shaggy-haired son. How much of their world had just been destroyed by the fire? “Is there anything we can do to help?”

“No.” Felicity raised her chin, trying for bravado, but the sound was more of a hurt whisper. “My home, my routine. I’ll figure something out. I always do.”

“Nonsense,” said Edna.

She wouldn’t.

His grandmother’s gaze cut to his.

She couldn’t.

“You can stay here with us.”

She did.

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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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“We’re here. Think you can walk?”

“Yeah, of course,” Grace insisted, jumping out of the car a little too quickly, because as soon as she stood up she felt lightheaded and her vision started to tunnel.

Scott reached out to steady her. “I’ve got you,” he said, wrapping an arm around her.

Grace let herself lean into him until her vision had cleared. And then she kept leaning into him and let him guide her to the house, because he was warm and comfy and it was a chilly night. His body was crazy firm, but also somehow snuggly, which didn’t seem like it should be possible, but there he was, being snuggly and firm at the same time.

As soon as they got to Grace’s front door, Scott let go of her and took a step back. The sudden loss of contact left her chilled.

“Do you have your key?” he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

She dug in her purse for it and unlocked the door. When she turned back to him, it felt like he was standing even farther away than before, like he wanted to make sure she didn’t get any wrong ideas about his intentions. Message received.

Loud and clear.

“Thanks for the ride,” Grace said, being careful not to close the distance between them.

“Drink some water before bed, okay?”

“Sure.”

“I’m serious,” Scott said.

She offered him a smile. “I can tell. You know how I can tell? Because you’re making your serious face, which is totally different from your just joking around face.”

“Promise me.”

God, he was extra hot when he was acting like a mother hen. It was so unfair.

“I promise,” Grace said.

Unexpectedly, he stepped forward and wrapped her up in a cushy hug. “Goodnight, Grace,” he said against her hair before letting go of her and stepping decisively away from her again.

“Goodnight,” she mumbled and fled inside her house.

We’re just friends, she told herself firmly as she stood in the kitchen drinking the promised glass of water. He’d made that pretty abundantly clear tonight. Friends and nothing more.

Maybe if she repeated it to herself enough times, she’d actually accept it.

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.

Website | Twitter | Facebook | BookBub | Instagram | Goodreads | Pinterest

Book Two, in A Sinful Series, brings you an intense, taboo love story, and an even hotter ALPHA. Meet Luca King— broody, powerful and a man who’s never refused.

There are only two reasons a man falls to his knees: prayer and pussy. And I sure as hell don’t pray. But for this woman, I’d fall on my knees to worship every single, gorgeous part of her body. And claim her as mine, knowing I shouldn’t want to keep her. Because we’re all wrong, too complicated, too explosive….too sinful. I want what I can’t have. But I’ll take it anyway because Gretchen Andrews has done the one thing my wife never could….she’s made me love her.

Luca’s hand pulls away from my chin, and he takes my glass, putting it on the table.

“How I see it is you need to stop assuming the worst and trust me to care for you, and the only way for us to do that is to make sure you get what you need, over and over, until you take it for granted.”

He’s talking about more than just sex, even though I love the “over and over” part. I didn’t trust him; I prolonged this moment as much as his stubbornness did. But I did it by way of mistrust, assuming he wouldn’t do what we both needed.

“So, you want to teach me a lesson in trust?”

The desire in my voice gives away my readiness.

He nods.

“I paid a helluva price almost losing you. What price should you pay for not trusting me? Huh?”

The tumbler he’s holding runs up my leg, and I can feel the coolness through my jeans. Luca leans close to my cheek and whispers, “Choose your fate. Do you want to be fucked or loved, Angel?”

I close my eyes, knowing they aren’t mutually exclusive, but for us, they have very specific meanings. He knows I need the connection between us, the aggression and anger we’ve both felt to play about in the sheets.

His breath is warm against my skin as he keeps whispering.

“Maybe we play your favorite game, Angel. I’ll hunt you…here.”

He brings the glass between my legs and runs it up, rolling it over where my clit is throbbing. My breath hitches.

“Do you trust me?” he asks seductively.

He sets his drink down and begins to gather my T-shirt, tugging it up.

I look around, worried about being caught.

“Luca, someone could catch us. The wall is all glass.”

The minute I say it, I know I failed my lesson. Luca doesn’t stop or change expression as he pulls my shirt up and over my head, leaving me exposed in just my bra.

“Take them off, or I will,” he directs in his deep gravel, indicating my jeans.

I’m not a submissive girl. But when he does this, gets sexually dominant, I feel understood. I’m a powerful woman, and I need a man who can handle me, break me, and make me feel devoured. Luca was made for me. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“The longer I wait, the longer you wait to come. Get ’em off,” he growls. Holy hell, I’m wet. Rough Luca is my favorite Luca.

I reach slowly for my button and pull it open, challenging his patience by lowering the zipper only a fraction.

“You know, I’m not wearing underwear,” I lie.

The thought of being fucked out here where someone could catch us makes me nervous, even if I’m supposed to trust him.

“When I pull off these jeans, everyone will see what’s yours…you sure you want to share?” My voice is a purr, and he bites his lip, gripping his bulge.

I know I’ve won. No fucking way is he willing to share me with prying eyes.

Right as I feel victorious, Luca shakes his head and says, “So fucking stubborn,” then grabs me by the waistband of my jeans and jerks me forward.

“Luca!” I yelp and laugh.

He pushes his hand down the front of my jeans, and I gasp, silenced. Grabbing my tiny lace G-string, along with the few hairs I have down below, he tugs me closer, and the sensation makes my pussy slick with need.

My back arches from being pulled forward.

“Little liar,” he whispers knowingly, and I whimper.

Pleasure grips my body as his hold tightens.

“You definitely need a lesson in trust. Maybe I’ll take it out on your ass or maybe in your ass. Here’s the game, baby: I catch you, I pick.”

His hand retreats as he takes a step away from me.

I’m breathless. My entire body is on fire. This man speaks to every filthy fucking piece of me.

“What’s the second choice? What if you don’t catch me?” I ask hungrily.

A slow smile grows on his gorgeous face. Luca takes out his phone from his pocket and presses a button, laughing to himself.

The light that glowed from inside the house begins to fade as heavy black shades roll down, and I hear a click as the door locks. He was never going to let me be seen. But now, I’m on my own.

Rule #1: Maintain Control.

Chapter 1

Gavin

I never walk into a room without a plan. I don’t care if I’m entering a board meeting or a bar—I map out my goals beforehand and prepare to execute them. Tonight’s birthday party for my girlfriend’s roommate is no exception. Right now I’m on a mission to locate my date on the rooftop terrace, strip off her panties, and leave her believing today is her special day.

“Gavin!” The twenty-something birthday girl grabs my arm. She’s named after a flower, but hell if I can remember which one. “Now that you’re here, darling, this party is officially lit.”

I raise a practiced eyebrow. “I’m not that exciting.”

Violet—that’s her name—laughs as if I’ve told a particularly hilarious joke.

“In fact, I need to return to work later,” I add.

I want to be clear. I’m not here for Violet’s bash. Tonight, I have a singular goal, and she’s waiting on the roof.

A young hipster in a tailored orange suit sidles up to me. “New product releasing soon, Gavin? I’ve heard rumors that you’re developing new software. If you’re planning a release, I could help with the PR. I’m starting a public relations group, and I’d really love for you to be my first client.”

And I’d love to lick my girlfriend until she screams my name.

I slap hipster dude on the back. “I’m afraid we want different things right now, my friend, and I’ve had a long day.”

Truth.

 “Before I talk business,” I continue, stepping away from the birthday girl and her admirers, “I need a drink.”

Lie.

 I’m eager to give Alexandra an orgasm, but the bar’s on the way to the stairs. I’ve been to the Brooklyn penthouse before, though I prefer having Alexandra come to my Manhattan apartment The twenty-something trust-fund crowd leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I wouldn’t have even crossed the east river tonight, but Alexandra sent me an invitation I couldn’t refuse.

I pause beside the temporary bar set up beside the living room’s floor-to-ceiling windows. “The birthday girl and her friends would like shots. Tequila. Top shelf.”

The bartender nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Violet!” I call over my shoulder. “It’s tequila time.”

“Shots!”

The call echoes around the room. A group suddenly crowds around the birthday girl, eager to share in the celebrating. I take advantage of the distraction and open the sliding glass door leading to a terrace. Following Alexandra’s instructions like a treasure map, I find the stairs and climb two at a time.

Overeager? Hell, yes. I want this woman. Unlike her trust-fund former roommate, Alexandra actually works for a living. Her receptionist gig at my gym pays the bills while she tries to launch her acting career. Her friends fall in the take-them-or-leave-them category for me, but I’m crazy about Alexandra’s work ethic.

She understands me on an elemental level.

I grin like a fool when I reach the top of the metal staircase. I can picture my best friend’s reaction to my lofty claim. “Elemental? You just mean she’s good in bed.”

 That is precisely what I mean. But Alexandra takes “good” to new levels.

How do you tell if a woman shares your sexual kinks? I ask myself this question on every first date. Given my habit for choosing Mrs. Right Now—my best friend’s label, not mine—I’ve been on hundreds of first dates, and I still haven’t found an answer. And failure is not something I take lightly. I came from nothing, and now I’m worth more than one billion dollars.

Not that I’m into anything from the Fifty Shades playbook. I’m not that kind of billionaire. But nothing turns me on like sex with the possibility of getting caught. I’m not talking public parks or places that might lead to a night in a jail cell. I’ve had enough trouble in my life, and I’m not about to invite any more.

But a private rooftop terrace while a party buzzes below? The chance that one of the other guests or a member of the catering staff will hear my girlfriend’s moans and come investigate?

Oh, hell yes.

 I spot Alexandra by the railing. She’s staring out at the night sky. Beneath the full moon’s glow, I can see the tops of the trees in Prospect Park. Manhattan’s skyline is on the other side of the building, but all I want is a view of my girl, naked and draped over her outdoor furniture.

A sideways glance confirms the lounge chair is still up here. A heat lamp that would look more at home in a restaurant or at a wedding hovers over the lone chair.

She won’t freeze when I pull her dress to her waist.

 I cross the cement pavers and wrap my arms around Alexandra’s slim waist, drawing her back to my front. She can’t miss how the mental picture in my mind turns me on. The evidence is pressing against her lower back. Even in her three-inch heels, she’s a good bit shorter than my six-two build.

“I want to bury my face between your legs,” I murmur in her ear. “I’m going to lay you down on that chair, reach up under your dress, slide you panties down your legs, and—”

“I’m not wearing any underwear,” she announces in her low, sultry voice.

Her voice oozes with the promise of sex, and I would bet my BMW that men call to reserve the squash courts at the gym just to hear her purr in their ear. Until last month, I was one of those guys. After the second phone call, I stopped by the desk and asked her out.

Her response? “I knew you would come to your senses and take me to dinner.”

Bold, confident, and sexy as hell. Maybe she’s the one. Maybe I’ve finally found Mrs. Right.

I step forward, using my body to gently guide her across the patio to the chair.  We’ve been here before. Not on this roof-deck. Last time, we slipped away at a museum opening and found a quiet hall. No cameras. I made damn sure there wouldn’t be a recording of my girlfriend on her knees in front of me. But when I zipped up and we returned to the party, I knew I’d found a woman who saw more than dollar signs when she looked at me.

Now she steps free from my grasp. The front of her calves bump against the lounge chair. Then she turns to face me. “But I didn’t invite you up here for sex. At least, not to start.”

I school my expression, dialing down the exasperation and the lust. If she wants to talk first, I’m in. I give her my best you-have-my-complete-attention look, the one I’ve practiced in countless business meetings.

Alexandra is special. She deserves more than a quick orgasm during a party.

“I’m listening,” I say, shoving my hands in my suit pants pockets. I want to be clear. I’m not reaching for her. Not yet.

“First, I have something to show you,” she says.

I hear a trace of nerves in her tone, and I sure as hell like her use of the word show in place of tell. Most women I’ve dated for a month or more eventually have something serious to share with me. Their feelings. Their hopes and dreams for our relationship. Or the expected size of their future engagement ring.

For the record, I’ve never bought a ring.

Alexandra’s fingers work the latch on her clutch, and my gaze follows her movements. Her hands are trembling, hard. Finally, the latch gives, and I catch my breath.

I’m immediately turned on. My imagination’s running wild with the potential outcomes from her little game of show-and-tell. Whatever she’s hiding in her purse must be small. Something that pushes my bold, beautiful girl out of her comfort zone. Something that leaves her shaking.

She pulls out a thin slip of paper and holds it out to me.

My brow furrows. I pull my right hand free from my pocket and take it. It’s in my hand before I realize I’m not holding a paper, but a picture. The image is old and slightly discolored, probably dating back to the days when people used cameras and then visited the grocery store to develop the film.

Like when I was a kid…

No.

 My jaw tightens, grinding my molars together as I force myself to look at the image. My childhood and this picture—they aren’t connected. It’s not possible.

But a single glance tells me I’m wrong. I know that scrawny, beaten kid in the old photo. Any thought of sex suddenly takes a back seat to the dread stirring deep in my gut.

“How did you get this?” I demand, looking Alexandra straight in the eye.

She’s still shaking like a fucking leaf, but she’s holding her chin high. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me,” I say, biting out the words.

I’d thought I’d wiped all records of my humiliation off the face of the earth. But now I’m holding a picture of my weakest moment. I recognize the bathroom floor in the image. The tile matches the house where I grew up. And I should know. I spent a lot of time there, licking my damn wounds, knowing I would have to go to school the next day and face the fucking bullies again.

“There are more photos.” Alexandra nods to the one in my hand. “That one isn’t the worst.”

My grip tightens on the picture. Who is this woman? And how the hell did she get her hands on these images? I didn’t even know they existed until tonight. And I’ve spent a fortune to hide my past.

“What do you want?” I demand, lifting my gaze from the picture to look at her.

I take in her smug, excited expression. The nerves are gone, probably buried beneath the misconception that she’s won.

Fuck, I’ve been played. The thought crosses my mind, and I know I’ve come to this epiphany too late. I’ve been sleeping with the enemy this whole time, and I didn’t even have a damn clue.

“Money to start,” Alexandra announces. “One hundred million, in cash. The account information is on the back of the picture.”

“I’m not paying you off,” I snap. But I turn the image over to confirm there is an account listed. “Not for a bunch of pictures of some kid.”

I’m rationalizing now. No one would see these images and connect them to Gavin Black. If this woman tries, my public relations company will crush her. And there is no way Alexandra knows the full story. Gavin Black had a very different childhood than the one in this picture. There’s proof. I know, because I created it myself.

“It’s not just ‘some kid.’ I know who you are,” she says. “And I’m going to share what I know with every media outlet in this city.”

“The hell you will, you—”

“Unless we come to an agreement. One hundred million suggests you’re willing to work with me.”

“Bitch,” I murmur.

My breath turns shallow. I can feel the panic rushing to my chest, threatening to take hold like a heart attack, but I fight it.

So, she knows who I am? So do I. I’m New York City’s most desirable bachelor. I’m also a capable and effective businessman.

I take one more look at the picture. I am not that kid. Not anymore. I can’t be bullied as an adult, not like the broken, scared child in the old photo.

Taking the picture in both hands, I tear it in half. Then I rip the halves into smaller pieces. I look my girlfriend in the eye as I let the shredded remains fall to the ground.

Her mouth forms a half smile. “You’re angry and you’re lashing out.” She speaks to me in a tone I barely recognize. It’s the same sultry voice, but she sounds like a teacher from my worst nightmares. “I understand.”

“The hell you do,” I growl, careful to keep my voice low.

I refuse to draw the drunken revelers up here and make a scene. In part, because she’s right. I’m very close to losing control. I need to get out of here. Now.Turning on my heel, I walk toward the metal stairs.

“I’m not going away!” she calls after me. “I’ve waited too long for this.”

Who the hell is this woman? Why was she waiting to blackmail me all this time?

I file the questions away and focus on making my way through the drunken melee in the penthouse. My cell is in my hand by the time I reach the exit. In the hall, I pause to text instructions to my driver. I need the limo downstairs by the time the elevator hits the lobby. My ride better be ready for a road trip, because there’s no way I’m going back to the office. And I’m not calling my publicist, or any other members of my elite, expensive PR team.

Not until I talk to my best friend.

The elevator arrives as I pull up the number and hit “call.” It rings over and over. Then the doors open, revealing a sleek, marble lobby as a familiar voice asks me to leave a message.

I step out into the crisp November night. “Kayla, I’m two hours away from you. I’ll be there at midnight. Be ready, because I’m going to do something I haven’t done in a long, long time.”

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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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