Mistake number one: falling in love with a man who betrayed me. Showing up on his doorstep years later asking for his help? Also not brilliant.

Haven: Naive. Foolish. Call it what you like, but I let myself get conned by a man who claimed he loved me. Nine years later, he’s as sexy and compelling as ever. I find myself wanting to believe he’s changed, wanting to believe I’m his, him to touch me. But how the hell am I supposed to trust a con?

Ethan: Grifter. Master manipulator. Hustler. Call it what you like, but I’m damn good at what I do. I earn trust, I break it, and I never make mistakes. Then Haven knocks on my door, every bit as gorgeous and brilliant and impossible as I remember, with her curves and wholesome innocence. I’ll protect her. Earn her trust. Make her mine.

“Oh, yeah,” he confirmed. “See, while I was in here, my thoughts were occupied by all the things I couldn’t wait to do when I got out of here. I decided, I want steak for dinner from La Marque.” “The one on Fifty-Fourth?” He nodded. “And I want the longest, hottest shower known to man.” “Oh, I bet,” I said, putting my elbows on the metal table and leaning forward to rest my chin on my hands. I couldn’t imagine the culture shock of having your showers regimented. “But before I do any of those things, Haven?” His voice had changed tone and I was startled by the intensity. “Y-yeah? What do you need, Ethan? Anything you want.” He smiled, slow and hot. “I want you. In my bed.” I swallowed again. I’d already decided in favor of that, of course. He’d paid his debt to me – both by giving me back the money he’d taken from my parents, and by showing me just how much he’d changed by stepping into this hellhole voluntarily to free Max and Luis. But Ethan didn’t know that. If the man had been making assumptions, I wasn’t going to make this easy for him. “Is that right?” I said, folding my arms over my chest. “What makes you think I’d go?” His voice shifted even lower, deeper, the rasp of his voice sliding over my skin. “Because you know I can make you scream my name.” My breath caught, a tell-tale hitch that belied my stiff posture. The words were a bold challenge, an honest, straightforward claiming. They were proof that we’d moved way beyond deceit and trickery, and that my faith in him was justified. “I’ve thought a lot about how sweet your pussy was the other night,” he continued conversationally. “I closed my eyes and I swear to God, I could practically taste it. It was fucking delicious.” Oh. Dear. God. “I imagined I was sitting on my bed at home, and you were standing in front of me in that hot little black and white dress of yours, giving me that little teasing smile I love. And while I watched, you pulled the dress up, just an inch at a time, and bared your skin and those sexy-as-fuck panties to me.” Oh, God. I could see it too, like he was painting a picture in the air with his words. My mouth was hanging open and I tried my best to summon a cool, snarky response, but all that came out was, “Guh.” He smiled, dark and predatory. “I told you to remove your panties. Slowly. And do you know what happened next?” I shook my head. I could guess. Hell, I was practically ready to do it right here and now, cameras and guards be damned. But I wanted to hear the words from his lips. “You said no,” he whispered, and I blinked. Wow. His fantasy-Haven was pretty badass and had way more control than the real me had. “But that was fine,” he said, his eyes burning into mine. “That was fucking perfect.” “I-it was?” “Mmm. Because I turned you around, put you over my knee, and spanked your ass for your disobedience.” He bit his lip, the first physical sign he’d shown that he was as affected by his words as I was. “And Haven? You wanted me to. So, so badly.” I raised my hands to press my cold palms to my suddenly burning cheeks. I would want that. I hadn’t confessed it to anyone, ever, not even to him nine years ago, but I did want it. I craved it. He didn’t move from the wall, but his eyes stalked me, cataloging my every movement, my every response. Ethan knew how to read people, and I knew he could read me right now. Did he know that my panties were damp? Could he sense the way my nipples were beading beneath my blouse? Did he realize how badly I wanted him? Suddenly, I wanted him to know. “Then what happened?” I demanded breathlessly. “After that? After your ass was red, you mean? After you’d writhed on my lap until your pussy was dripping for me?” He smiled, innocent as an angel except for his wicked, wicked eyes. “Then I forced you to your knees on the floor.” I was nearly hyperventilating, aching with want, and I could barely see him across the room, since my vision was turned inward, imagining the scene he projected. “You took my cock in your mouth,” he said hoarsely. “Licked it like a popsicle that might melt at any minute, and then sucked me down the back of your throat. Jesus Christ, I was so hard. So, so hard. And I didn’t want to hurt you, I would never want to hurt you, but you grabbed my hands and put them on your head to let me know you loved it every bit as much as I did, that you wanted me to use you that way.” I gripped the table so I could hold myself to earth when the stunned arousal in my blood made me feel buoyant. I did want it. I did, I did, I did. “I fucked your mouth,” he whispered, like the world’s most erotic confession, but the look in his eyes said he wasn’t repentant. Not for one single second. “You made the sweetest little noises, just like the noises you made when I ate you out the other night. You remember, Haven?” I didn’t respond fast enough, apparently, because he repeated himself, his voice harder this time. “Do you, Haven?” I nodded jerkily. God, of course I did. I’d deliberately tried not to think about it while he’d been away, knowing it would only make me miss him more, but his voice was a spell, an incantation, that conjured up that evening with perfect clarity. I could feel his mouth on my most intimate areas, could feel the powerful thrust of his tongue. “Ethan,” I breathed. “I want to do that again, Haven. Right now. Tonight. Over and over.” His hands were flat against the wall behind him now. And though they were still cuffed behind his back, it seemed like he was hanging onto the cinder-block surface for support. In a rush I realized that he was standing that far away because distance was the only way he could control himself.

Jane has been writing since her early teens, dabbling in short stories and poetry. When she married and began having children, her pen was laid to rest for several years, until the National Novel Writing Challenge (NaNoWriMo) in 2010 awakened in her the desire to write again. That year, she wrote her first novel, and has been writing ever since. With a houseful of children, she finds time to write in the early hours of the morning, squirreled away with a laptop, blanket, and cup of hot coffee. Years ago, she heard the wise advice, “Write the book you want to read,” and has taken it to heart. She sincerely hopes you also enjoy the books she likes to read.

Maisy is an unabashed book nerd who has been in love with romance since reading her first Julie Garwood novel at the tender age of 12. After a decade as a technical writer, she finally made the leap into writing fiction several years ago and has never looked back. Like her other great loves – coffee, caramel, beach vacations, yoga pants, and her amazing family – her love of words has only continued to grow… in a manner inversely proportional to her love of exercise, house cleaning, and large social gatherings. She loves to hear from fellow romance lovers, and is always on the hunt for her next great read.

He’s bred to protect.

Tobias Creed likes things done his way, and he likes his women ready to submit. No strings attached. Until the night he meets the one woman who challenges him, practically begging to be taken over his knee.

As a single mom to a child with special needs, Diana McAdams does things her way. She’s in control and doesn’t have time for love. Happily-ever-afters aren’t for her.

Then she meets the man who demands her submission…

You son of a bitch,” I hiss, intentionally keeping my voice low. Crazy, half-cocked, vindictive ex-lover isn’t normally my thing. Hell, there’s a first for everything, though. “Diana! Stop. This is stupid, and girl, you know I know stupid when I see it because I’ve done all the stupid in my life.” Beatrice pleads with me to think twice as she shuffles toward me, trying to place her small frame between me and the car I’m about to destroy. “Stop the lecture.” My hands tremble as I hold the keys, glaring past my blonde-haired, blue-eyed bestie, and focusing my hatred on the silver Maserati. I march past Beatrice, and before I can change my mind, dig the tip of my key into the gleaming exterior with maniacal glee. Crouching down, I take grim pleasure in destroying the most beautiful car I’ve ever looked at. Sat in. Been fucked in. “Did you tell Little Miss High and Tight your sob story?” I cackle to the car as if it’s my ex-boyfriend embodied. I’d only just met the guy a few weeks ago, my first real boyfriend since my ex-husband took off, but I’d managed to convince myself he was the one. My savior. My hero. With a particularly vicious swipe, I lose my footing and nearly sprawl onto the snowy sidewalk, but I catch myself on the bumper. Wind whips at my hair, icy snow lashing my bare skin, but I hardly feel it. Tequila for the win. “Diana,” Beatrice cajoles. “You’ve had too much to drink. God, woman! Get ahold of yourself! You’ve done it, okay? You’ve done enough. I shouldn’t have let you out of the car. This isn’t you. You’re too smart to pull this teenaged shit. Just get in the car and I’ll—” “Leave me alone.” I love this girl to death, but I don’t trust myself not to shove her out of my way if she tries to stop me. I scrape the key once more, so deep it feels like fucking nails on a chalkboard, but I like knowing the damage will be severe. “You don’t know what it’s like to walk into your bedroom and see some bitch with her lips wrapped around your boyfriend’s cock.” Scrraaape. “You don’t know what it’s like to see betrayal in the eyes of the man who said he loved you.” Scraaaape. “You don’t know what it’s like,” my voice catches on a dry sob, so I underscore my angst with another cut of the key, “to have to explain to your son that the bastard who promised to take him to the drive-in movie theater was a lying piece of shit who’ll never come back.” Scrape, scrape, scraaape. Sitting back on my heels, I eye the destruction with triumph. Beatrice talks to me like one might speak to a rabid animal, her hands outstretched in a gesture meant to calm. “I may not know those things, but I do know that—” She freezes, her voice now panicked. “Oh. Oh, shit. Diana, stop. Oh my God. We have to go.” But before I can respond, the deep growl of a man’s voice right behind me—a voice I do not know—makes me nearly stumble. “What the fuck are you doing to my car?” Shit. His… car? I turn, my cheeks hot despite the freezing cold, to stare into the terrifyingly furious face of the biggest man I’ve ever seen. He towers over me, even wearing my tallest spiky heels, and the involuntary step I take back helps me see him better. Everything about him is dark, with his swarthy skin and nearly-black hair, but it’s his eyes—black as coal beneath thick, heavy brows, that pin me in place. I can’t move. I can’t speak. I can barely think. His jaw, covered in thick, dark stubble, tightens when his huge, muscled arms cross his expansive chest. In any other time or place, I’d find the man sexy as fuck. But now? “Your car?” I whisper. “My car,” he says in a low growl. “What are you doing to my fucking car?” I blow out a breath and close my eyes. I’m screwed.

He’s bred to protect.

Tobias Creed likes things done his way, and he likes his women ready to submit. No strings attached. Until the night he meets the one woman who challenges him, practically begging to be taken over his knee.

As a single mom to a child with special needs, Diana McAdams does things her way. She’s in control and doesn’t have time for love. Happily-ever-afters aren’t for her.

Then she meets the man who demands her submission…

It’s maybe not a good sign that her teasing makes my dick hard as a rock. Jesus, what I wouldn’t give to push her right up against the display and spank her ass in front of God and everybody. The very idea makes my hand tingle. I can almost taste the surge of adrenaline I get when I punish her ass, can almost see the red marks from my hand, feel her writhing beneath me. She’s addictive. And fuck if she doesn’t need this as much as I do. Marla grins as we leave. I guide her to my right, my left side facing the street, before I grab her hand and lead her toward Verge. “Pushin’ your luck in there, woman.” “No, sir,” she contradicts. “Pushing my dom.” Her dom. “I don’t like game playing,” I bluff, feeling as if I need to keep a firm footing on some kind of control. She’s beginning to make me unravel. “There are better ways of getting your ass spanked, you know,” I say. “Sure,” she says, “like saying, ‘Spank my ass,’ in the middle of a bookstore. Yes, I’d be game for that. Or, say, pulling my skirt up and laying over your lap. Perhaps texting you a ‘spank me’ meme?” A gray-haired woman with wide, round spectacles stares as she walks past us, her mouth dropping open. Just to give her something to talk about, I take Diana by the elbow and give her a teasing smack, which makes several passers-by snicker and the lady furrow her brow, literally picking up her skirts and scurrying past us with a disapproving glare. Diana sticks her tongue out at the retreating woman. She’s adorable, but I make a clucking sound. “Alright, behave yourself, now,” I order. I can tell just by looking at her that she needs to know she can push me and that when she does, I won’t crumple. I know the look by now. Submissive women who crave dominance need this from time to time, and Diana’s no exception. I’ve likened it to a blind man finding his way in an unfamiliar room; once he knows where the walls are, his boundaries, he can move more freely. Though she doesn’t say a word, I give her a sober look as I unlock the door to Verge. “You know, I’ve been doing this a while now. I know that look in your eyes.” “Look? What look?” she responds, barely keeping the bite out of her tone. “That spank me, please,” look. I pull her into the empty hallway and shut the door behind her. “The look that says, dominate me.” “I didn’t—I didn’t mean—don’t you—” “Diana,” I say evenly, holding her by the elbow and marching her down the hall, past my office, past the vacant lobby, and into the bar area. “You’re an honest woman. Don’t compound things by letting that slide just because you’re embarrassed. You can get a lot of things just by asking. But sometimes? You don’t know what it is you want, or need, especially when you’re new to this. Lucky for you, or unlucky for you, however you wanna see it, I’m not new.” We reach the dungeon that looks cavernous with no one else here. I release her elbow and point to the padded spanking bench in the center of the room. “Lie over the table. Lose the leggings. And if at any point you want to stop, you say pink flamingo.” “What?” She suddenly has the classic deer-in-the-headlights look. But we don’t have time to argue. “That’s your safeword,” I say, my eyes meeting hers as I reach for the buckle of my belt. Her eyes go wide as I unfasten the belt and tug the leather through the loops, anticipation weaving its way through me, the sweet taste of domination at hand. “What are you doing?” she whispers, now beginning to really look afraid. “Tobias…” Doubling the belt over and pointing to the table, I repeat the safeword. “Pink flamingo.”

He’s bred to protect.

Tobias Creed likes things done his way, and he likes his women ready to submit. No strings attached. Until the night he meets the one woman who challenges him, practically begging to be taken over his knee.

As a single mom to a child with special needs, Diana McAdams does things her way. She’s in control and doesn’t have time for love. Happily-ever-afters aren’t for her.

Then she meets the man who demands her submission…

Jane has been writing since her early teens, dabbling in short stories and poetry. When she married and began having children, her pen was laid to rest for several years, until the National Novel Writing Challenge (NaNoWriMo) in 2010 awakened in her the desire to write again. That year, she wrote her first novel, and has been writing ever since. With a houseful of children, she finds time to write in the early hours of the morning, squirreled away with a laptop, blanket, and cup of hot coffee. Years ago, she heard the wise advice, “Write the book you want to read,” and has taken it to heart. She sincerely hopes you also enjoy the books she likes to read.

He’s bred to protect.

Tobias Creed likes things done his way, and he likes his women ready to submit. No strings attached. Until the night he meets the one woman who challenges him, practically begging to be taken over his knee.

As a single mom to a child with special needs, Diana McAdams does things her way. She’s in control and doesn’t have time for love. Happily-ever-afters aren’t for her.

Then she meets the man who demands her submission…

Jane has been writing since her early teens, dabbling in short stories and poetry. When she married and began having children, her pen was laid to rest for several years, until the National Novel Writing Challenge (NaNoWriMo) in 2010 awakened in her the desire to write again. That year, she wrote her first novel, and has been writing ever since. With a houseful of children, she finds time to write in the early hours of the morning, squirreled away with a laptop, blanket, and cup of hot coffee. Years ago, she heard the wise advice, “Write the book you want to read,” and has taken it to heart. She sincerely hopes you also enjoy the books she likes to read.

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