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REEVE IS COMING!  

Meet Reeve & Emily in First Touch releasing December 29th!

Blurb

When Emily Wayborn goes home to visit her mom while on hiatus from her hit TV show, she receives a voicemail from her former best friend, Amber. Though the two were once notorious party girls, they haven’t spoken in years. Although the message might sound benign to anyone else, Amber uses a safe word that Emily recognizes, a word they always used to get out of sticky situations during their wild days. And what’s more chilling than the voicemail: it turns out that Amber has gone missing.

Determined to track down her friend, Emily follows a chain of clues that lead her to the enigmatic billionaire Reeve Sallis, a hotelier known for his shady dealings and play boy reputation. Now, in order to find Amber, Emily must seduce Reeve to learn his secrets and discover the whereabouts of her friend. But as she finds herself more entangled with him, she finds she’s drawn to Reeve for more than just his connection to Amber, despite her growing fear that he may be the enemy. When she’s forced to choose where her loyalty lies, how will she decide between saving Amber and saving her heart?

Excerpt

The room began to close in around me, blanketing me with acute heaviness. I drained my champagne in one swallow then set it on a waiter’s tray as I pushed through the crowd and out to the overflow area that had been set up in the parking lot. Once the chill night breeze hit me, I gasped in a deep breath, swallowing the air in long gulps, as though I’d been underwater and had finally reached the surface.

With Amber, I’d been a glorified hooker. In Hollywood, wasn’t I pretty much the same thing? I’d simply left one bed to move to another. I chuckled at the paradox. It deserved a laugh, at least.

Footsteps sounded behind me, and I stifled the last bit of humor threatening to escape. Without looking over my shoulder, I felt the air change. The hair at the back of my neck bristled and the sting of electricity huddled around me.

I turned, somehow knowing what I’d find—who I’d find.

He leaned against the concrete doorframe watching me with eyes that pinned me in my place. He was captivating and magnificent, his tux fitting him better than clothing had the right to fit a person, better than any one of the pretty men that filled the room beyond him. Those men, my peers, they were a sea of beautiful—calm and serene. Reeve was the ocean, dark and commanding and turbulent. They moved in gentle waves. Reeve stood still and set the world crashing around him.

That easily, the breath I’d just managed to get under control was knocked from my lungs.

He spoke before I could regain my composure. “What a coincidence that you’d be at the same event that I’m at.”

The boldness of his accusation shocked me into response. “I’m not following you, if that’s what you’re insinuating.” My pulse fluttered in fear, in excitement. In irritation. I didn’t like the way he agitated me. Maybe I’d deserved it at his resort, but this? This was my turf.

With a surprising display of fierceness, I locked my eyes to his. “I’m the one who belongs at this event. Not you.”

He laughed and the sound of it fueled my indignation. It also sent heat rushing up my thighs, heat that turned my rage inward as well as out.

Hands in his pockets, Reeve stepped toward me. “Calm down, Emily. I was only teasing. Of course you aren’t here because of me. Perhaps, I’m here because of you.” He paused long enough for panic to jolt through me with reminders of the ominous words he’d delivered to me the last time we’d seen each other. “Perhaps, this time I’m the one who’s examining.”

My anger stepped up another notch, overwhelming my unease. “Examining me? Like, why—to scare me? To see if I’m as fun to mess with when you’re outside the home field? How dare you? Come here, into my world and prod at me just because you feel like it. Proceed to make it your playground. How dare you?”

His lip curved into a chiding smile. “Now you know how I felt.”

I refused to acknowledge my humiliation, though the flush that swept down my neck more than likely gave it away. “Thank you for the lesson, Mr. Sallis,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “I assure you that I have more than gotten the point. You won’t be having to give me any further demonstrations.” I started toward the venue doors, praying I could manage the walk. High heels and weak knees did not make for a good combination.

I circled widely around him, wanting to keep as much distance between us as possible. But I could still feel the warmth pulsating off him like the driving beat of a dance club. It trembled through me, coming up from the ground, shaking me, gripping me. I fought through it, forced myself past him.

“Emily.” His address caught me mid-stride. Five more feet and I’d be back in the Expo. Just a few more steps…

I couldn’t help myself—I stayed. I didn’t turn toward him, though. That was my single act of restraint.

“What I did to you at the spa—”His voice was silk and stubble all at once. The texture of the sound, as much as the mention of the spa, was bait on a hook. I practically leaned into his next words. “It wasn’t very nice.”

I spun toward him. “You think?”

“I like my privacy. I was mad.” It wasn’t an explanation so much as it was a reminder. You provoked me, he was saying. You deserved it.

“So you made me think you wanted to kill me?” Admittedly, I had earned his admonishment. I hadn’t earned a death threat.

“Eh. I never said I wanted—”

I cut him off with a point of my finger. “You did. In every way you could without the specific words.”

He opened his mouth as if to defend himself further. Then his expression changed, his features darkened, his eyes gleamed. “Did it scare you?”

“What do you think?” A shiver ran down my spine. He knew he’d scared me. It had been his intent to rile me up, make me afraid. What I hadn’t realized was how much he liked that he had.

About the Author:

Laurelin Paige is the NY Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling Author of the Fixed Trilogy. She’s a sucker for a good romance and gets giddy anytime there’s kissing, much to the embarrassment of her three daughters. Her husband doesn’t seem to complain, however. When she isn’t reading or writing sexy stories, she’s probably singing, watching Game of Thrones and the Walking Dead, or dreaming of Michael Fassbender. She’s also a proud member of Mensa International though she doesn’t do anything with the organization except use it as material for her bio.

STALK HER:  Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Pinterest

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REEVE IS COMING!  

Meet Reeve & Emily in First Touch releasing December 29th!

Blurb

When Emily Wayborn goes home to visit her mom while on hiatus from her hit TV show, she receives a voicemail from her former best friend, Amber. Though the two were once notorious party girls, they haven’t spoken in years. Although the message might sound benign to anyone else, Amber uses a safe word that Emily recognizes, a word they always used to get out of sticky situations during their wild days. And what’s more chilling than the voicemail: it turns out that Amber has gone missing.

Determined to track down her friend, Emily follows a chain of clues that lead her to the enigmatic billionaire Reeve Sallis, a hotelier known for his shady dealings and play boy reputation. Now, in order to find Amber, Emily must seduce Reeve to learn his secrets and discover the whereabouts of her friend. But as she finds herself more entangled with him, she finds she’s drawn to Reeve for more than just his connection to Amber, despite her growing fear that he may be the enemy. When she’s forced to choose where her loyalty lies, how will she decide between saving Amber and saving her heart?

Excerpt

The first time I shared a man with Amber had been on my seventeenth birthday.

She’d been hanging around the neighborhood for the better part of the six months before that, and we’d become friends. We had the same taste in food and music and movies and, unlike the other girls we knew, we both preferred a line of coke to a bowl of weed. “Champagne taste,” Amber would say. “That’s us.”

Though we were both the same age, our lives had been very different. I’d go to school during the day, trying to pretend that my grades were salvageable as she’d watched The Home Shopping Network and ate Cheetos on the neighbor’s couch. Amber had dropped out of high school, and since she’d also runaway from home, no one was pushing her to go while graduation was the one thing my mother demanded of me.

I’d hated everything back then. School. My mother. My neighborhood. My body. Everything but Amber. She’d been fun. Sassy. Sexy. She was electric and electrifying and everything I wanted to be. And she cared for me. Maybe even loved me. If I had gone to a shrink they probably would have said that was why I latched onto her—that I thought of her as the mother mine had never been. I knew how screwed up everything seemed. But who could ever know why a person fell for another? I only knew that I had been dull and dim and that Amber made me less so.

She’d also had things I didn’t. Things that money bought. The clothes she wore were designer, her nails were always done. She’d lowered her panties once to show me her Brazilian. Whenever I’d asked how she paid for things, she’d always answered simply, “My uncle.” Even as we’d grown closer to each other that was all she’d tell me about the mysterious relative.

“For your birthday,” she’d said two days before, “I’ve got a surprise. Plan to spend the weekend with me.”

So that Friday, I slipped out of school early and met Amber at the bus station where she purchased two tickets to Santa Monica. Though I couldn’t get her to give me even a hint as to where we were going or what we were doing, I spent the two-hour bus ride buzzing with excitement. Whatever Amber had in mind, I knew without a doubt that this trip would be the beginning of the next phase of my life. I was ready. I was so ready.

Outside the station in Santa Monica, Amber bummed a smoke off a street musician and I scanned the street, taking in the sights of a place I’d never been. A red convertible parked nearby caught my attention, more specifically, the man leaning against it. He was older, maybe as old as my mother, but attractive. Not because he was all that good looking, exactly—though his body was definitely fit and trim—but because of what he exuded. Confidence. Assurance. Money. He drew my attention, and in the way that a restless, sexually charged young girl often did, I found myself wondering about him. What it would be like to kiss a man like him. What it would feel like to be beneath him. I’d had plenty of sex before. With boys from school. I’d yet to meet one who knew what he was doing, and though I would never have admitted it out loud, I was dying for it, thoughts of it never far from my mind.

When Amber followed the line of my sight, she dropped her cigarette with a squeal and exclaimed, “There he is, Em! Come on.” 

“There who is?” I asked as she tugged me toward the very man I’d been staring at. 

“My uncle!” After throwing her duffle bag into the back seat, she jumped into the man’s arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. Then she proceeded to make out with him like I’d done on more than one occasion with the boys under the bleachers at school. Never out on a public street. Never with a man who had to shave everyday.

When they had finished their display and Amber was back on her feet again, she made introductions. “Rob this is Emily. Em, Rob.”

He may have said something to me. I didn’t really know because I’d been too busy staring at her, my jaw gaping.

“Oh, Emily, he’s not really my uncle,” she told me as she jumped into the passenger seat. “Get in.”

She’d misread the cause of my surprise. I grinned—only one of the many times I’d grin that day—and climbed in the backseat. If Amber hadn’t been the coolest person I’d ever met before that moment, she’d certainly proven herself now.

About the Author:

Laurelin Paige is the NY Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling Author of the Fixed Trilogy. She’s a sucker for a good romance and gets giddy anytime there’s kissing, much to the embarrassment of her three daughters. Her husband doesn’t seem to complain, however. When she isn’t reading or writing sexy stories, she’s probably singing, watching Game of Thrones and the Walking Dead, or dreaming of Michael Fassbender. She’s also a proud member of Mensa International though she doesn’t do anything with the organization except use it as material for her bio.

STALK HER:  Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Pinterest

Now available for Pre-order!

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1jxIMYq

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REEVE IS COMING!  

Meet Reeve & Emily in First Touch releasing December 29th!

Blurb

When Emily Wayborn goes home to visit her mom while on hiatus from her hit TV show, she receives a voicemail from her former best friend, Amber. Though the two were once notorious party girls, they haven’t spoken in years. Although the message might sound benign to anyone else, Amber uses a safe word that Emily recognizes, a word they always used to get out of sticky situations during their wild days. And what’s more chilling than the voicemail: it turns out that Amber has gone missing.

Determined to track down her friend, Emily follows a chain of clues that lead her to the enigmatic billionaire Reeve Sallis, a hotelier known for his shady dealings and play boy reputation. Now, in order to find Amber, Emily must seduce Reeve to learn his secrets and discover the whereabouts of her friend. But as she finds herself more entangled with him, she finds she’s drawn to Reeve for more than just his connection to Amber, despite her growing fear that he may be the enemy. When she’s forced to choose where her loyalty lies, how will she decide between saving Amber and saving her heart?

Excerpt

“I hope you’re nice and relaxed, Emily. Because we need to have a chat.”

Apprehension fluttered in my belly. Chatting was definitely not the direction I wanted to go in from here. Whatever he had to say, I couldn’t possibly listen. I was too agitated.

But without him spelling it out, I knew that was the terms of this arrangement. He’d touch me—in his way. And I’d listen, whether I wanted to or not.

So I propped myself up again and gave him as much of my attention as I could.

“It’s interesting,” he said, his thumbs doing that amazing thing on the bottom of my foot, “how people respond to you when they believe you’ve gotten away with murder.”

My stomach dropped. No speech that started with murder had a happy ending.

“Most people are frightened of you,” he said as his hand stroked up my shin. “They pull their business. They stop attending your events. They certainly won’t let themselves be seen with you. It’s not really anything to fret over, losing those connections. You don’t want cowards in your court. Good riddance to them.”

“I’m not a coward,” I managed to say defensively. Though I wasn’t sure why I was defending myself. Or why I was anxious that he might mean good riddance to me when that was probably exactly what I should be wishing he meant.

He glanced up at me, amusement in his features. “No, you’re not. You’re not scared. Or you’re not scared enough.”

I barely fought the shiver that begged to stutter through my body. It was a menacing statement, and I wanted to deny it as well. Tell him that I was definitely scared enough. But what the hell did that mean, anyway? Considering how turned on I was despite everything I’d learned about him, still turned on despite the foreboding in his tone, well, maybe he had a point. I really wasn’t scared enough.

The amusement transformed to what looked more like awe. Then his attention fell back to my leg and I couldn’t see his face well enough to read him. But after he pushed my ankle back so that my knee bent, his touch changed. A single finger traced the line of my inner thigh. Softly. Sweetly. Just as he got to where I so wanted him to go, he abruptly stopped. One second passed. Two.

Then he resumed the firm pressure from before, reclaiming his restraint. For now.

I could wait.

His speech continued, his voice firm, icy. “There are other people, too. Those that respect you. They aren’t necessarily your friends, because they’re also scared—probably even more so than those who keep their distance. They continue their financial support of your endeavors. They invite you to their parties. Their children’s weddings. They look out for you. Because, you see, they’re afraid that if they don’t…well.”

My heart hammered in my ears. Suddenly I was feeling vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with my nudity and all to do with the frailty of my size compared to the strength of his.

As if to prove that point, Reeve increased the pressure of his kneading, digging his fingers into the flesh of my thigh with a bite that sang and stung. “It’s a very intense form of power, actually. Much like having money. I’m sure you’ve gotten a taste of that with the recent success of your show. Imagine that but multiplied by a billion.”

“Mm hmm,” I said, a response that served as an answer though it was mostly an involuntary reaction to his hands. He’d reached the top of my limb again. Like before, the tips of his fingers brushed against my folds.

Goddammit, I was wet. And trembling. And overwrought with anticipation. This time, would he let his touch wander farther up? In?

His hands left me. He pushed my leg down, pulled the sheet back over my leg and pinned me with narrowed eyes. “It’s also not unlike the power of being a very attractive person. Another privilege that you understand.” He scanned the length of my body, the sheet still a barrier between us, and let out an audible breath. “I imagine you must understand it very well indeed.”

It was an accusation. The grit in his voice and the weight of his stare said so. Fucker. Whatever hopes I’d had for this whole scene of his, it was clear now that his intent was not friendly. Punishing, more like. I still wasn’t sure for what exactly. For being in his pool. For using my beauty to draw his interest. For coming onto him without his permission. I’d thought his humiliating body search had been all the reprimand I was getting. Guess I’d been wrong.

My eyes fell. However, a glance at his crotch gave me the slightest smidgeon of satisfaction. He was unmistakably hard. He might be punishing me, but he was punishing himself too.

About the Author:

Laurelin Paige is the NY Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling Author of the Fixed Trilogy. She’s a sucker for a good romance and gets giddy anytime there’s kissing, much to the embarrassment of her three daughters. Her husband doesn’t seem to complain, however. When she isn’t reading or writing sexy stories, she’s probably singing, watching Game of Thrones and the Walking Dead, or dreaming of Michael Fassbender. She’s also a proud member of Mensa International though she doesn’t do anything with the organization except use it as material for her bio.

STALK HER:  Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Pinterest

About AGAIN

No regrets. Just lessons learned.

Having lived through the torment of losing his first love to someone else—all because he never spoke up—Sydney Maricopa vowed never to repeat that mistake again.

So when he finally admits he’s fallen for his new best friend, he refuses to lose her too, especially once he realizes his feelings for her might be requited. There’s only one problem.

Her perfect boyfriend.

Still, Sydney’s determined to fight for the girl he loves this time. He has what it takes to go up against Mr. Perfect. Most importantly, he and his new best friend have something even her boyfriend can’t compete with—their profound connection. One he intends to use to win her over.

Until he finds out what she’d be giving up if she chooses Sydney.

Something no one should ever give up. Would he dream of selfishly asking her to? Or should he do the honorable thing and sacrifice his own happiness for hers? Allow the girl he loves to sail off into the sunset with another man as he stands back and watches in agony . . . again?

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Excerpt:

Once back at her apartment she decided she was doing way too much over thinking

about this. She’d had friends who were guys before. It was a simple concept. You

treat them just as you would any of your girlfriends. Easy peasy. The problem with

Sydney was he was so damn good-looking. As laid-back as he was, being around him

was still a bit daunting, not to mentioned breathtaking. She’d been silly enough to

think that he’d be less intimidating out of his power suits despite how down-to-

earth he was.

“Those muscles and lips and dreamy lashes, oh my. Alright,” she began one of the

pep talks she often gave herself as she mixed the flour, poppy seeds, and the rest of

the ingredients in a bowl. “Be yourself. Act just like you would you’re around Liv or

your brothers. Don’t look at him as a guy – an incredibly handsome guy – with

yummy muscles and bedroom eyes that make you tingle in places you have no

business tingling. Think of how easy it was to laugh and hang out with him at the

repast and the party. The drive home that seemed to be over in a flash. This is the

same guy. Don’t ruin this.”

Giveaway

Want to win an ARC of Elizabeth Reyes’ upcoming novel, RAGE? Fill out the Rafflecopter below!

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About Elizabeth Reyes

Award winning, USA Today Bestselling Author, Elizabeth Reyes continues to answer her calling on a daily basis. Since releasing her debut novel FOREVER MINE (MORENO BROTHERS #1) in 2010 she has since published seven more in that series, FOREVER YOURS, SWEET SOFIE, WHEN YOU WERE MINE, ALWAYS BEEN MINE, ROMERO, MAKING YOU MINE, and TANGLED with more stories about the Moreno family and their friends to come. She’s also published a second series, 5th Street which includes, NOAH, GIO, HECTOR, ABEL. FELIX. Her Moreno Brother’s spinoff series FATE includes FATE, BREAKING BRANDON, SUSPICIOUS MINDS and AGAIN (Sydney’s story). Her debut traditionally published title is DESERT HEAT and her latest release is her first ever three part romance serial DEFINING LOVE.

When she’s not writing (which is rare) she spends as much time as she can with her husband of almost twenty-one years, two young adult children, her Great Dane, Dexter and big fat lazy cat named Tyson.

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Blurb:

Sometimes a single touch is all it takes to spark a wildfire.

Erin Warner learned that the day she bumped into the dashing, tattooed stranger on a busy Chicago street corner. She’s captivated from the moment his mystifying green eyes find hers, and it isn’t long before she finds herself flying to exotic locales to assist him, the award-winning erotic photographer Hunter Ellis, on location. What she didn’t bargain for was the way he makes her blood bubble and churn with lust and thinly-veiled promises of unfathomable erotic pleasure with every click of his camera.

But there is more to Hunter than meets the eye, including the intricately etched tattoos decorating his body that disguise horrific scars from a past he refuses to revisit. As she peels away the layers, Erin realizes that what she thought was true, never really was at all, for both of them.

Now she can only hope that blind adoration for the dashing stranger didn’t sign her death warrant.

The first in a thrilling new erotic serial intended for mature audiences.

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Goodreads

Prologue

My heart pounded in unwavering beats. I stood over him, tears rushing down my cheeks, my eyes unblinking at the slumped form sprawled across the seeping maroon concrete.

“Hunter,” I sobbed and dropped to my knees, the concrete grating the denim, soaking the blood clear through. I didn’t care. All I saw was him, because for the first time since we’d met, I couldn’t feel him.

“Hunter, please, breathe,” I whimpered and dropped my ear to his barely parted lips. The lips I’d pressed to mine tenderly, the lips that had roamed my skin and caressed my body.

“Hunter—” I choked on the words as tears rained down my cheeks, my hands and body trembling so fiercely I couldn’t focus long enough to tell if he was breathing.

I can’t feel him. He’s gone.

“Hunter,” I whispered and tried to still my misfiring heart.

“He’s dead, Erin.” A voice echoed over my shoulder and sent chills racing down my spine. No. NO. “No!” I turned to find empty pits of burnt amber assessing me.

“What did you do?” I shrieked and balled my tiny fists into the hard rock wall of the man towering over me. His hands caught my wrists with ease and halted my assault.

“Don’t fuck with me.” The familiar eyes tore into mine as I hunkered from his imposing force. His grip tightened painfully, ripping a grunt past my lips.

“No,” I moaned, ready to collapse at Hunter’s slouched form. Nothing mattered — the world ceased moving when Hunter’s heart had stopped in his chest.

“Let’s go.” John Walker hauled me from the concrete and carried me through the dark corridors of the warehouse and away from the man who’d promised he’d always protect me.

About the Author:

Adriane Leigh was born and raised in a snowbank in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and now lives among the sand dunes of the Lake Michigan lakeshore.

She graduated with a Literature degree but never particularly enjoyed reading Shakespeare or Chaucer.

She is married to a tall, dark, and handsome guy, and plays mama to two sweet baby girls. She is a voracious reader and wishes she had more time to knit scarves to keep her warm during the arctic Michigan winters.

Author Links

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Check out chapter 1 from FATAL BEAUTY by author Nazarea Andrews. This book will be released October 13th and it is an Adult Thriller.

Click here to ADD THE BOOK TO GOODREADS

FATAL BEAUTY BOOK BLURB:

Charlotte was a good girl. Sweet and innocent, a debutante with her Daddy’s credit card and a fiancée who doted on her.
She was destined for a perfect picture life in Charleston.
Until everything goes wrong.
EJ grew up with everything she could ever want, and bored as hell. Nothing surprises her and nothing ever changes, and she wants out—whatever it takes.
Getting involved with Anthony Jacobs is probably the worst idea she’s ever had—and that makes it irresistible.
Until Charlie needs her.
New Orleans. Los Angles. Vegas.
Beautiful girls who know just how to get exactly what they want.
It’s all fun and games, sexy nights and wild parties.
But you can only manipulate your way out of so much, and when their past catches up, not even a pretty fucking smile will get them out of trouble this time.

EXCERPT:

Las Vegas Police Department, Interrogation Room B.

Detective Blackmon: State your name for the record.
Charlotte Brooks: (clears throat) Charlie Brooks.
Detective Blackmon: Your legal name, ma’am.
Brooks: Charlotte Suzanne Brooks.
Detective Blackmon: Have you been advised of your rights, ma’am?
Brooks: (soft laugh) you advised me of them. So yes.
Detective Blackmon: Do you want to tell us how you came to know Ms Ella Jane Munro?
Brooks: Where is she?
Detective Blackmon: Ma’am, I need you to calm down and give your statement.
Brooks: Where the fuck is EJ?
Detective Blackmon: At night fifty pm the LVPD were called to a hotel room secured with a credit card in your name. Upon searching it, we found drugs, weapons and almost two hundred in cash. Do you want to say anything about that?
Brooks: I wasn’t in that room, and neither were my belongings. You verified that. My wallet was stolen. And I want EJ.
Brooks: Why the hell are you looking at me like that?
Detective Blackmon: Ma’am…
Brooks: (screaming) where the hell is EJ?

Chapter 1

If she could look at it, with the hindsight of everything that had happened, she would say that it all began six months before Wallace Bryce Talbert went missing. The day Ella Jane Munro sold Llewellyn Koonts a hit of blow in the locker room of her father’s country club.
Of course, if she had the luxury of hindsight, she might have changed everything by simply going to lunch at the Greenhouse instead of tennis at the club.
Then again. Charlotte had never had much use for hindsight and even less for regrets.

*

Charlie Brooks was an institution at the Buringtree Country Club. She had grown up in the halls, played tennis early and well, swam in the summer and pranced around the greens in tiny shorts, her blonde hair bobbing in her signature braid.
She was a perfect debutant. Sweet as sugar when it suited her, and an utter bitch when it didn’t. The staff at the club lived in fear of her temper. HR had to step in when she was in high school and they couldn’t keep a staff–Charlie either terrorized them into quitting or demanded they were fired over minor infractions.
And because she was Travis Brooks only daughter, she usually got her way.
Ella Jane Munro was different from Charlie. Just as bitchy, just as demanding. Filthy fucking rich. But Charlie revealed in who and what she was born to. She never wanted anything but to be the queen bee at her private school, at the club, and Vanderbilt. Everything she did was carefully calculated for how it would reflect on her and how people viewed her.
It’s why she and Ella Jane had never gotten along, despite being in the same circles.
From the outside, they would have made the perfect frenemies. Self-destructive, the kind of too close back-stabbing that would fuel the wet dreams of high school boys with visions of love hate sexcapdes.
Ella Jane and Charlie didn’t cooperate. Ella was bored to death with country club life and everything expected of a deb. And she might be an it girl, in her blasé way, but she never aspired to steal Charlie’s crown.
They existed for most of their life, in a kind of live and let live détente.
No one could explain why that changed. It was whispered about, of course. Two of Charleston’s favorite daughters, suddenly inseparable? Everyone had a theory. No one knew the truth, though.
No one would have ever believed the truth.

*

The door to her office opened and closed again, in the kind of way that was an announcement. She swallowed a smirk and layered another coat of pale pink on her nails.
Most girls would pay for a manicure, but she had always found the ritual of her nail care to be soothing.
The cash slapped down on her desk and she blinked at it slowly before letting her gaze slide lazily up to the woman across from her.
Sharp green eyes, long jet black hair with a single streak of magenta in bangs cut across her forehead. A pair of designer skinny jeans and a loose, sheer black tank top scattered with polka dot skull and cross bones, lace edged cami under it showing off her amazing tits.
Only Ella Jane could stalk into her office in designer jeans and a Walmart clearance top and look perfect instead of ridiculous.
“Your half.” She says.
Charlie finishes her last finger, admiring it briefly before screwing the lid on her nail polish and giving the other woman her attention.
“When are you meeting with Jacobs?”
“Tomorrow. Don’t be impatient, greedy girl.”
She bites down on the acidic response that wants to rise, and arches an eyebrow silently. EJ stares at her for a long moment, before she huffs a sigh and drops into the high back leather chair across from her.
“You can’t do anything until Monday anyway. Isn’t your engagement thing tonight.”
It’s posed as a question, but she knows damn well when it is. Charlie goes still and her gaze clouds for a heartbeat.
“Do you want me to come?” EJ asks, quietly.
The offer startles a laugh from Charlie and she grins, a dry, mocking thing. “And how the hell would I explain that? No. Stay on your side of the club, and I’ll stay on mine. I’ll be fine.”
There’ a tense moment, as they stare at each other, and Charlie wonders just how much EJ suspects.
They weren’t supposed to become friends—it was a business arrangement. One that benefited them both and made EJ’s supplier happy. But it had evolved.
It made her nervous, and nothing made her nervous. She didn’t like it.
“Don’t be a bitch, Charlie,” EJ says coldly.
“Then don’t fucking hover.” Charlie snaps.
Anger flares in EJ’s eyes, for a moment, and then it vanished, and she stands. “Fine. Have fun with your boy.”
Her tone is mocking and knowing and it stings a little as she watches EJ leave.
For a moment, it occurs to her that she should apologize. She dismisses it just as quickly and grabs the stack of cash, standing and moving to the wall where her safe is.
It’s crammed with cash and a small black revolver. As she adds the new stack to the others, she touches the gun.
It’s soothing, and her unease and nerves settle at the touch of the cool metal.
It’ a standard black Glock. Most of her girlfriends carry a tiny pink pistols they can tuck into their Coach bags with equally ridiculous sized dogs. But Travis Brooks always said that if she wanted to be man enough to carry a gun, she’d damn well carry a man’s gun.
“Charlotte? We have a meeting with the partners.”
She snaps the safe shut, keying the lock and spins to smile at her fiancée.
Wallace Bryce Talbert the Third. Tre to his friends and enemies alike. A golden boy in her father’s law firm, and the man she had promised to spend her entire life with.
He’s grinning at her, holding a hand out and she swallows her nerves and fear as she places her hand in his and follows him out of the office.

*

EJ pads out of her bedroom, her naked body wrapped in moonlight. A bottle of spumante sits discarded in a silver wine chiller, and she grabs it as she moves to her purse and pull out a pack of cigarettes. She smokes almost pensively, staring out the window. Behind her, she can hear him moving and she keeps her gaze trained on the window as smoke curls around her, dissipating slowly.
“You should come back to bed,” he says, and she can hear the tease in his tone. She barely manages to keep from rolling her eyes as she wraps her lips around the cigarette again, pulling one last time before dropping it into a forgotten champagne flute.
“You should go. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”
Surprise and anger chase across his face, and she waits to see if he’ll follow through.
Clayton Poole was the heir of an ancient oil tycoon, and would be much more interesting if he would lose his temper every once in a while.
He was a fun fuck, always took care to get her off, and he opened doors even she couldn’t walk though. But he was boring as fuck when they weren’t naked.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says, lamely, and she flick a look at him as she pours a glass of spumante.
“Don’t. I’ll call you soon.” She gives him a smile and kisses his cheek before returning to her bedroom.
She lets out a sigh when the door shuts behind him, and settles on her bed. It smells of sex still, but she’s too drunk and lazy just now to strip the sheets.
Besides, she likes the smell of sex, even if Clayton isn’t her favorite fuck buddy.
There is a joint in her bedside table and she fishes it out and lights it, pulling on it deeply as she thumbs through her social media.
The entire newsfeed is abuzz with the engagement party of the year, and she grits her teeth. She should have been there. Clayton had been invited—Charlie will be pissed he didn’t show, a thought that strings a smirk across her lips—and she could have crashed it. Nothing to be done once she was there.
Once upon a time, it would have been amusing just to get a rise from Charlie.
When the fuck had that changed? When she realized that Charlie was just as unhappy in their fucking perfect life as she was?
Or was it when Charlie blackmailed EJ into sharing her distribution, earning her respect as more than another empty headed social climber.
She huffs, and takes another pull on the joint. The smell of weed fill the bedroom, covering the scent of sex. Her muscles are loose and relaxed against the bed and she let’s her phone drop beside her, drifting on her high, drunk and post-orgasmic relaxation combining to pull her down into sleep.
The room is pitch black, her body hot and sweating against the rough duvet when she wakes. Her mouth is dry and for a disorienting moment, she wonders where the hell she is, and what happened.
Her phone buzzes against her thigh again, and she fumbles for it.
“Charlie?” she croaks, and swallows. Reaches for the spumante on the bedside table.
“I need you.”
The whisper from the other end of the line chills her, and she shudders, rubbing away the goosebumps that trace along her arms.
That’s it—those three words and nothing more.
Sleep is forgotten completely as she sits up and nods. “I’ll be right there.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Nazarea Andrews (N to almost everyone) is an avid reader and tends to write the stories she wants to read. Which means she writes everything from zombies and dystopia to contemporary love stories. When not writing, she can most often be found driving her kids to practice and burning dinner while she reads, or binging watching TV shows on Netflix. N loves chocolate, wine, and coffee almost as much as she loves books, but not quite as much as she loves her kids. She lives in south Georgia with her husband, daughters, spoiled cat and overgrown dog. She is the author of World Without End series, Neverland Found, Edge of the Falls, and The University of Branton Series. Stop by her twitter (@NazareaAndrews) and tell her what fantastic book she should read next.

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From New York Times bestselling author Penelope Ward, comes a new forbidden STANDALONE romance releasing September 21st!  

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SINS OF SEVIN EXCERPT

Copyright © 2015 by Penelope Ward

As he gulped down the water, I watched his Adam’s apple moving up and down. I used the opportunity to glance over his sweaty body up close. The top of his underwear was sticking out of his jeans. The smell of him was intoxicating, a mix of cut wood, sweat and cologne. I thought about our talk the other night, how he’d confessed his sexual history. As much as it disturbed me, knowing he’d used that body to give a woman pleasure made me weak with desire. I could only imagine what that would feel like with him.

Elle would find out.

I was still looking down at his abs when he said, “Thank you.” My eyes immediately shot up to meet his incendiary stare.

He’d caught me checking him out.  

“You’re welcome.”

His mouth curved into a smile as he handed me back the glass. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you much this week.”

“Yeah. I’ve been busy.”

“I have something for you,” he blurted out in a way that indicated he was anxiously waiting to say it.

“For me?”

“Yeah. Wait here, okay?”

Sevin ran over to where his truck was parked and grabbed something out of the open window.

He returned to where I was standing and handed me a CD.

“What is it?”

“If you like the Smiths, you’ll like some of the songs on here. I included a few Smiths songs—the ones from your favorite album, but there’s also The Lemonheads, The Pixies…and Pulp.”

“You made this?”

“Yeah. I made it for myself and burned you a copy.”

“Thanks.”

He looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Number ten is my favorite.” Then, he walked away.

I immediately took it back to my room and dusted off my old portable CD player.

Lying down on my bed with the sun streaming in, I drowned out the world and listened to every song. When it got to number ten, I paid special attention, knowing he’d specifically called that one out.

The name of the song was Like a Friend. I later found out it was by Pulp. With each lyric, my eyes became heavier until they welled up in tears. The words described to a tee exactly how I’d been feeling about him. The singer was shouting out all his feelings about his friend, that she was everything he shouldn’t want, everything that was bad for him, but yet he couldn’t stop wanting her. He’d take what he could get even if that just meant being friends. Every single line spoke to me. It was the first time I realized that maybe I wasn’t alone in my torment. This situation—whatever was happening between us—was taking a toll on him, too.

I must have listened to the song five times before I went over to the window and looked down at him. At one point, he finally looked up and noticed me. He squinted his eyes to see me through the glare of the sun. I still had my headphones on. He knew I had heard number ten. The look on his face when our eyes locked only confirmed that number ten wasn’t just a song. It was his way of speaking to me.

Blurb

What happens when the one you want is the only one you can’t have?

My name is Sevin.

Homeschooled and sheltered by my ultra-religious family, I was always taught that lust was a sin.

Elle was the girl who’d been carefully chosen for me.

After a long-distance courtship, I’d be moving into her family’s guesthouse so that we could get to know each other in the months before the wedding.

Boundaries were set: no inappropriate touching, no kissing, no sex before marriage.

I’d accepted those rules and my fate.

Until I met the one I wanted to sin with.

That was when restraint became a problem…especially since THE ONE wasn’t Elle.

It was her sister, Evangeline.

You know what they say about best laid plans.

My name is Sevin, and I have sinned.

Told in alternating points of view, Sins of Sevin is a full-length standalone novel. Contains graphic sexual content and harsh language. Only appropriate for adult readers age 18+.

Meet Penelope Ward

Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestselling author. She grew up in Boston with five older brothers and spent most of her twenties as a television news anchor, before switching to a more family-friendly career. She is the proud mother of a beautiful 10-year-old girl with autism and a 9-year-old boy. Penelope and her family reside in Rhode Island.

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